


Wayfaring Daughter

by Quieta



Category: Original Work
Genre: Abandoned Churches, Breeding Kink, Creampie, Date Rape, Decaying Plantations, Dirty Talk, F/M, Folk Remedies, Folk Tales, Forced Orgasm, Fugitives, Gothic Americana, Historical, Impregnation, Murder, Non-Consensual Oral Sex, Old Savannah, Rape Aftermath, Rape/Non-con Elements, Religious Fanaticism, Rough Sex, Sexual Coercion, Sexual Slavery, Something In The Attic, Southern Families with Secrets, Southern Gothic, creepiness, deep south, lawmen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-04
Updated: 2020-02-08
Packaged: 2020-02-23 19:46:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 11
Words: 44,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18708775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quieta/pseuds/Quieta
Summary: Fleeing from a broken past and a trail of crimes, Rosannah Semple takes a job as a maid and governess for a wealthy Southern family who treat her as darkly as the secrets they hide.





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Velma Thorpe is a schoolteacher with a secret.

 

_Last night, I had a dream._

_I'm walking on a dusty road. The sun's beating down, so heavy, so hot. On each side there's a row of crucifixes, and people are nailed up on them._

_And I see Barry Sevier who shot his friend during a hunting trip, and Old John Newell who raped his daughter when she was thirteen, and Etta Jones who drowned herself in Fox Run River after she got pregnant. And they're sweating and bleeding and crying out for salvation, but salvation's not coming. It's never coming._

_I know they're all meant to be here, that their sins were too great, and I ignore their groans and pleads for help as I walk on ahead, leaving them behind._

_But as I reach the end of the road, I see an empty cross._

_And there's the devil beside it, waiting to nail me up._

***

The dusty Texas sky was waning.

The schoolteacher liked to stand outside the schoolhouse, after classes had ended, and watch the sunset by herself. The vivid blood color washed over the prairie, casting the swaying fields in the gentle orange light. She would breathe in the evening and stand with the wind rustling the hem of her dress, hands gently resting against the sides of the door. 

When Dale picked up his son, he always lingered in the schoolyard watching Miss Velma, her black curls tumbling over her shoulders, the faded ribbon she wore to tie it back, the look in her blue-black eyes. She always had such a sad look on her face.

Miss Velma was good with children--seemed to prefer them to adults. When Dale asked if she had a family, her eyes grew wide and her hand went up to fiddle with the lace hem of her dress. She never answered him. 

Dale's wife had died five years ago, leaving him with three children. He struggled. He was a farm boy born and bred and was used to having a woman doing the cooking and cleaning. His son Ellison got on well with the teacher, and he had seen her gift him with a rare smile from time to time. 

So he stood there, watching her with his straw hat in his hands, waiting for the last straggling schoolchildren to leave the yard.

The gray sky seemed almost as gray as her voice as she turned to him. "Mr. Cullins? Is it Ellison? He's causing no trouble in school, I assure you. He's a lovely boy." She had a lilt to her tone--not Texas, not even Southern, something else.

"Well, um, that's sure good to hear, Miss Velma. But it ain't why I'm here. I wanted to know... um, I wanted to know if a lovely girl like you was married. And if'n you weren't, I wanted to know if you would come over to my house for dinner. I'm not much of a cook but my cornbread's the best in town."

As soon as he stopped speaking, he knew he had said the wrong thing. Her face froze, jaw setting and eyes widening to show the whites all around. When she spoke, he heard ice beneath her tone. "No, thank you, Mr. Cullins. I have to grade papers tonight. I'm sorry."

His heart plummetted as she turned away stiffly and began gathering the papers on her desk. 

***

Velma Thorpe came home just as it was beginning to darken, tripping along the dirt road in her scuffed leather shoes. She lived in a one-room shanty house on the end of a road outside of town, made of thin boards and a scrap metal roof. She liked it--the tall, swaying prairie grass closed her in, made her feel protected.

There was no bathroom--she had an outhouse. But she cared for her shack as well she could. It was neatly swept inside, with tattered blue wallpaper and portraits of flowers on the walls. She had one table with a lace tablecloth and two chairs--not that she used the second one very much. Her bed was neatly made, and her meager jewelry was carefully arranged on top of her chest of drawers. She locked the door behind her and heaved a shaky sigh, appreciating the silence that enveloped her.

 _I need to stop worrying. Oh, heaven's sake. He'll never know_.

Velma took out her pearl earrings and loosed her long black hair. She washed her face in the mirror and stared intently at herself in the mirror, at her narrow nose and full lips and dark eyes and sharp widow's peak, and wondered if anyone would see the old black-and-white photo of her wedding, her face on a peeling WANTED poster in Dallas or Tyler and come back here and look at the face of the local schoolteacher and--

_Stop worrying. You're safe here. No one will ever know._

Night was coming, although evening's blessing still lingered in the skies.

Velma graded papers while she made herself hambone soup and black beans, and was ready to serve herself when she heard a knock at the door. Oh, dear. Was it Dale Cullins, come to apologize? She had rejected him rather harshly. Or was it--

The schoolteacher shook her suspicions away. She was safe here. No one had ever bothered her here.

So she unlatched the door and put on her prettiest smile and prepared to offer Dale some soup and a place at her table--

"Velma Elizabeth Thorpe?" said a light Texan twang.

She felt ice water began to drip down her spine, but she forced her best smile on and said. "Good afternoon, sir. What brings you to Arden?

The man took his black, broad-brimmed Stetson off his blond head and smiled a smile so broad it almost touched the edges of his face. "Mind if I come in?"

***

The man was dressed to the nines in what she heavily suspected but feared. Black coat with a gold star pinned to the breast, open to show a white dress shirt and gray vest. Long, black pants with a thin silver chain looping from the belt buckle to the first button of his shirt.

Velma's fears came true when he took off his badge and slid it over the table to her. "Jeremiah Crawford. US Marshal. Mind if I ask you a couple questions?"

She smiled and swallowed. "Would you like some soup? It's black bean and ham."

"Thank you kindly, Madam, but hopefully I won't be here long. How long have you been here in Arden?"

"Just half a year. I moved here from a little town outside Austin called Webberville."

"Your parents?"

"Linton and Mary Thorpe. They moved to Virginia."

"Very interesting. Are you in contact with them?"

"No, sir. We never got on well growing up."

He leaned back and tilted his head back, eying the thin, cracked ceiling. He had one leg swung over the other, shoulders slumped and relaxed in a devil-may-care posture. When he brought his head back, he was grinning again. He had dimples when he smiled. "Lovely place you got here." His sardonic, slightly teasing tone made her blush.

"It's all I can afford."

"Shame you ain't got no husband, at least none that I can see. Why'd you come to Arden? Nothin' here but dust and tall grass."

"Guess you could say I was running. From Webberville. From my parents. I just... wanted a new life."  _Just wanted to forget._

He stared at her hard, that cocky grin on his face. He was a handsome man, very handsome. Cowboy type, rough-hewn. Rode you hard and left you in the morning without a goodbye, but maybe a baby. 

His eyes were sparkling blue, full of mischief and mirth, and his jaw was strong and set, with blond stubble covering his chin. His nose was long and crooked--it looked as if it had been broken a few times. His hair was unruly, messy, and reached the nape of his neck. It was a beautiful color, all dark blond like sunshine on a wheat field, streaked with dark underneath. She wanted to run her fingers through it. Velma did like blond men so.

Shaking away her drifting, girlish thoughts, she said, "Will that be all?"

"You're a schoolteacher here, correct?"

"Yes, I'm the only schoolteacher in Arden."

"You ain't never been arrested before?"

"No, never. Not for speeding or drinking. Are you looking for a fugitive?"

"Indeed. Well, it's what we Marshals do. Find fugitives and take 'em back. Going door to door, lookin' and askin' questions."

Must have been someone local. Prison escapee, maybe? There was a women's prison near Arden. "I hope I was able to help you."

"Oh, you were indeed. I sure hope you get back in contact with your parents."

Velma gave a short laugh. "I might give them a call this weekend."

"Well, that will be all. Sorry to bother you, Miss Thorpe." He doffed his cowboy hat and put it back on his golden head. "Or shall I say, Miss Semple."

The silence was loud. If there could ever be a loud silence. 

"Because, Miss Thorpe, your name isn't Miss Thorpe at all. You didn't come from Austin. Your parents' names aren't Mary and Linton, and they don't live in Virginia. Your name is Rosannah Semple, and you're wanted by the Federal Bureau of Investigation for for killing your husband in Clareton, Missouri."

The soup was boiling over and spilling over to sizzle on the stove. She didn't even look over to it. 

Her throat was tight, so constricted that even if she wanted to sob, she couldn't have. She started at him quietly, eyes dry as she realized that  _this was it, it was over_ , and all her reassurances over the months, all her attempts to keep her head down, the slow relief she felt when the days ticked by and no one came for her, all vanished like the wind. Her fingers were tightening on her knees, fingers biting through the fabric to bruise her legs.

Jeremiah was looking at her, and his eyes suddenly seemed less mirthful, more calculating, almost predatory, like a snake winding around a mouse. He had her pegged from the moment he walked through the door. He had known all along.

"Thought you got away, didn't you? That's what they all think. Some take it better than others. Don't see a tear comin' out of your eye. Some cry, some beg, some make a run for it. None get away. Least, not under me." He scoffed.

"You don't understand," Rosannah whispered. "He beat me."

"Lots of men beat their wives. Not a lot of wives murder their husbands."

"He would beat me for any reason. If supper was late, if he had no whiskey left, if he had too much whiskey. After we lost the baby, he just... changed."

"I've heard it all before, sweetheart." He took out a pair of handcuffs and twirled them around idly. "Are you going to be a good girl and come with me? Or does this have to be difficult?"

The black-haired woman buried her face in her hands, shaking with silent sobs. Jeremiah sighed, sounded a little regretful. "Oh, with the crocodile tears." She heard the chair scrape and heard his boots thud on the ground as he approached her. "I'm sorry. I really am. Damn shame to let a beautiful girl like yourself waste away in a filthy prison for the rest of your life. Or die at the end of a rope, although you sure would leave a pretty corpse."

"I could beat the charges," she whispered, more to herself than him. "The women in Chicago do. They go up on the stand in their furs and their pearls and they tell a sob story and they go free."

"Darlin, they're glamorous Chicago widows. You're a dirt-poor farmer's wife. Why d'ya think anyone will pay attention to you?"

Rosannah felt his hand rest on her head, and he ran his rough fingers through her silky black curls, and the rumble of his voice sounded in her ear. "Gotta say, though. You're the prettiest-lookin' perp I've ever arrested in my life."

She looked up at Jeremiah, at his feral, presumptuous smile, the way his teeth were bared a little as he talked, and his narrow, snakelike eyes. His hand dipped lower, low enough to brush the nape of her neck.

"Maybe we can... come to an agreement before I arrest you. And I can put in a good word for you. Maybe even save you from the rope." His thumb curved around her cheek, dipping into the edge of her trembling red mouth. He slid it deeper, the rest of his fingers digging deep into the flesh of her neck. He tasted salty and dirty and made her tongue shrivel.

Rosannah glared up at him. For a moment, boiling humiliation replaced her fear and dread, and there was that same defiant mountain pride that had gotten her into this mess in the first place. Her jaw tensed, and she spat out his thumb. "You, sir, are a despicable human being, taking advantage of a woman like this. You should be ashamed. If I was your mother, I certainly would be."

She could tell that, like most men, Jeremiah Crawford didn't take kindly to his mother being mentioned in that way, and she took a bitter glee as his smile vanished. "Well, that's a damned shame." 

The Marshal opened the side of his coat, revealing a holstered silver revolver. "Maybe I'll have an accident taking you into custody." His voice was quiet with a veiled threat.

The cold feeling was back, her glee swept away, and she looked down again, and flinched when he bent down, but didn't fight back when he kissed her. His stubble scratched her chin.

He smelled like horsehide, sweat and sheen and sunlight. His lips were rough and sour, and they bit into hers without any mercy whatsoever. She swallowed, smelling him, tasting him, wondering how long it would last.

Jeremiah separated from her and pointed his chin towards the bed. She got up and sat down on her bed, the quilt cool under her shaking hands.  He sat down to pull his boots off, then took off his coat. "Take your dress off." 

When her hands flew up to unbutton her dress, he added sharply, "Slowly."

Rosannah slowly undid her purple dress button by button, then slid her shoulder out of one sleeve, then the other. She peeled off her garters one by one, revealing her long, slender legs.

Jeremiah's tongue went out to dab his lips. "That's more like it," he said huskily. "God damn, you got a killer body. Makes a man want to turn in his badge."

The woman undid her last button, fully pulling her dress off. Now she was dressed in just a silk slip that did nothing to hide her trembling curves.

"Wait," Jeremiah said as she pulled the strap of her slip down. "No, I want to do this myself. Unwrapping the present is half the pleasure, ain't it?"

He was in front of her now, rough hands, used to hard work, making quick history of her slip. Jeremiah pulled down the cup to reveal her heavy breast, topped with a nipple as pink as a strawberry. He sealed his mouth on it, and the shock of warmth made her nipple harden and her breaths began to shorten.

His lips went from her breast down to the curve of her tummy, and from there down until his breath tickled the tops of her thighs.

"You see, I'm a gentleman. I like to make a girl feel good."

The Marshal buried his face between her legs, making her jump and wriggle, but his grip on her legs was iron-hard as he forced them open. He opened her like a flower with his tongue, laving her like a dog, flattering the surface of his tongue then spearing it deep inside her. 

It had been so long since she'd had a man. And that man hadn't exactly been considerate of her pleasure, either. The sick feeling in her belly was being replaced by a sort of slow, shaky, electrifying pleasure. It reminded her of the first night she had spent with Jack--before the drinking, before the baby. Just two young lovebirds naked in a field, the wind on their bare bodies as they explored each other's bodies...

He sucked her clit hard enough to yank her out of her thoughts, carressing the little red nub with the tip of his tongue. "You're shaking like a leaf. Am I that good? Or are you practicing for the electric chair?" He mumbled, smiling against her thigh.

The woman kicked him away from her hard, pulling her slip up and twisting away to escape through the other side of the bed. But he came back, grabbing her ankle and yanking her onto her back. His voice was a growl and his hair in disarray. He hadn't been amused by her little prank. 

"You little bitch. Kick me like that again and I'll shove my gun up your cunt instead and make you beg me not to pull the trigger." He had taken out his revolver and had cocked it, aiming it at her and eying her coldly, and as she stared down the barrel into his enraged sky-blue eyes, she had a feeling that he was telling the truth.

He slowly and carefully put the revolver on the beside stand, where he could get to it, but it was out of her reach. He yanked off her slip and tossed it to the side, then undid his waistcoat and pulled his shirt off. His physique was hardened, scarred, a tan Texas body toned from riding and wrangling horses. Several bullet scars were right below his rib cage, in the dip of his hip. She could see a small edge of blond, coarse pubic hair, and for a moment some dirty part of her wondered what was beneath.

She wasn't wondering long.

The blond man undid his belt and pulled it open. He was long, and thick, with pulsing veins running down the shaft and his foreskin bunched up beneath the head. He had been ready for a while. The tears clumped to Rosannah's eyelashes as she stared at him, and he gripped the back of her head, fingers winding through the black strands.

"It ain't there for you to look at, sweetheart."

Rosannah wanted to hiss and spit at him like a cat, but she had learned through her short life that what men wanted, you gave to them. No use whining about it. Fighting back was what got her in this whole mess to begin with.

So she swallowed her pride, smoothed her dark hair beside her head, and went to work.

The young woman slid her lips over the tip, slowly slickening it until it glistened in the dim light from the lightbulb. Her tongue curled around the underside of his cock, feeling a vein pulse under it. Strands of her loose curls fell over her face as she bent down, streaks of dried tears on her cheeks. Her eyes fluttered shut as she took more of him into her mouth, tasting his harsh saltiness.

A trickle of sweat ran down his thigh as she began to bob her head, trying to remember what her husband had liked. Jack had always spent himself quickly, but besides the thin trickle of precum dripping from Jeremiah's tip, he was still erect snd holding out. She heard him start to pant, and his cock swelled more, until she heard him give a breathy moan.

Her world spun around her head. Rosannah was unceremoniously thrown to the bed, her legs pulled open, and suddenly he was deep inside her all the way, splitting her open, and she cried out in surprise and pain.

"What's with that face you're making?" He breathed in her ear as he began to hammer his waist back and forth. "This is the only cock you're getting for the rest of your life, unless you want to give it up for the prison guards. You'd better enjoy it."

Even though his saliva had slickened her pathway, he was still big, bigger than she was used to, and when he rose up on his knees, he pulled her waist up too, so that he could drive himself in as deep as possible, and she couldn't bear the pain anymore and burst out, "Please stop! It hurts too much, I-- Oh, lord have mercy!" 

In response to her wails he began to thrust more shallowly, dragging his length teasingly along her bruised walls. Something was welling inside her alongside the pain, a building warmth as he began to move with meaning, hitting spots inside her that made her jump.

Jeremiah had begun kissing her as well, light pecks on her face and long, passionate kisses on her mouth, his golden, dark-streaked hair hanging down to shield them both, capturing them in a dark corner. She curled her legs around his waist, trying to keep her balance as he thrust heavy against her, filling her up so fully that she felt that she would be limping for days. Her waist was numb with pleasure.

Rosannah let her hand dangle over the side. 

He was so taken with her, her body, and the way she moaned, he didn't notice her reaching down in the space between the bed and the wall, her arm muscles tensing as she reached, until the tips of her finger touched metal.

She felt the head of his cock begin to throb inside her, and knew he was close to spending and filling her up with his seed, and she knew that if she let him she would have a bigger problem on her hands. She gripped the rifle beside her bed and pulled herself up with his shoulders, until she was straddling him--

And brought the thick iron barrel of the gun into the side with one heavy swing.

The crack of his skull sounded through the one-room shack, and he fell off of her to sprawl onto the floor, leaving her naked, wet and armed. She was up in an instant, catching him around the head when he pulled himself to his hands and knees, battering him with the handle of her Winchester. 

Rosannah caught him in the side of his face, and his hands went up, blood trickling between them, and she swung it down again and again until the cracks of bone gave way to mush. Then she staggered back, gasping, until the backs of her legs hit the bed and she sank onto her knees. For a moment, her heavy, panicked breaths were the only sound in the room.

Jeremiah Crawford was lying on his side in the fetal position. His pants were around his knees. One side of his face was black with blood and bruises. 

Something occurred to her. The penalty for killing a federal agent.

Rosannah dropped her gun and crawled toward him, hair soaked with sweat and nose running and eyes bleary. She pressed her thumb to the pulse and noted, with sweeping relief, a flutter.

A bloodshot eye snapped open.

His grip was around her throat, choking her, and Jeremiah Crawford had his teeth bared, gurgling out hateful and venomous curses, and all her hazy gaze could see was his one eye, blue and black and and red and staring at her with virulent hate, as vivid as a cracked sapphire.

She drove her thumb through it.

His head knocked back into the floor with a thud, and his words tapered off. His blond hair was caked with blood. He shuddered and stilled.

Rosannah gripped her throat, coughing and sucking in air, and lurched to her feet. She dressed hurriedly in her slip and buttoned up her violet dress with the lace collar. She took her worn leather suitcase and flung it open on the bed, tossing her meager possessions in. She couldn't fit in any of the furniture she had scrimped and saved to buy, and for that she was sorry. But she was escaping with her life. That, at least, was enough.

As Rosannah stepped over his body, he was still breathing. For how long, she had no idea. But calling a doctor was too dangerous. She needed to be out and on the road before he gathered himself together and crawled out of the house.

A trickle of his jissom ran down her leg. It was warm, a warmth she was used to, and this time, an unwelcome one. She closed her eyes for a moment, breathing in and out.

Rosannah shut, but didn't lock, the door behind her. She went over to wash her hands at the rusty pump. The blood washed off in a gush of clear water, leaving her hands clean as the day she was born. But every time she blinked, the stains were there again, red and livid, showing up dark in the pale moonlight.

_You'll never get the blood off your hands, Rosannah. Never._

A crunch of dirt sounded behind her, and her heart went into a thrill  _he's back he's back he's coming after me_ and she whipped around, rifle in hand. The shadowy figure was coming towards her, only feet away before she pulled the trigger. The brief flash of gunpowder illuminated a face that made her heart drop past her feet into very hell itself.

It was broad, plain, yet pleasant--and as she pulled the trigger, it was blank with shock. She immediately recognized the patchy brown beard and thick glasses.

"Mr. Cullins!" she cried.  _Oh heavens above. I didn't... I couldn't have..._

But he was already sinking to his knees, dropping the bouquet of flowers in his hand. His other hand was clutching his midriff, blood pouring through his fingers. "Miss Velma," he said, and collapsed.

The moonlight shone down on a bloodbath. The blood trail from the door. The blood-soaked inside the house. The blood that streamed over the dusty prairie grass.

"God forgive me," she whispered. "Oh, god, please forgive me."

Mr. Cullins' sobs were drying up. He was shuddering, but his shuddering was stilling as well. His son would be left an orphan because of her. 

"I'm sorry," she said again, although she knew Mr. Cullins couldn't hear her. She spoke to the sky above, black as ink and studded with stars. "I'm sorry, Lord, please, I didn't mean to. I didn't mean to."

The fugitive fled on foot down the winding dirt road, surrounded by miles and miles of shifting, silvery waves of grass, the shadows of trees dotting the landscape like watching sentinels. And when she reached the end, she vanished into it, and it swallowed her up like a black mouth.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While I'm waiting for my computer to get here, I've decided to start writing something else for a while!  
> I love the Southern Gothic genre and Gothic Americana in general, and this idea has been rattling around in my head for a while.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rosannah is on the lam. Will she make it to safety before the police find her?

 

 

Rosannah stumbled onto a road.

Her leather shoes were caked with mud, and her throat was parched. She had been wandering for god knew how long, trekking through the faceless sea of grass. It stretched on forever, tan flatland interrupted by an occasional brushy tree. When her shoes hit the road, it jarred the sludge of her brain into alertness.

She saw a cloud of dust rising in the distance, and wondered if she was hallucinating. As it came closer, she realized that it was a black car, speeding along the road.

Road. Civilization. She was wary of entering a town, did not know if the alarm had been sounded or if people were looking for her, but she needed food and water. Second of all, she needed to get out of Texas. And she sure as sure as death and taxes couldn't do it on foot.

Rosannah took her rifle from her shoulder and aimed it. A lifetime of shooting birds from the porch had made her a good markswoman. She used to brag that she could shoot the eye out of a squirrel at fifty feet.

She closed one eye and aimed for the glimmer beside the car. 

***

Elmer and Franny were talking, laughing, touching, and giggling, fresh from ice skating in Longview and sharing an ice cream (and a little more than that) at a drive-in theater. 

"Elmer, let's go on to Dallas. It's still early in the morning. Let's go to a gallery or a park or something."

"I can't. This is my dad's car, he'll KILL me if I don't bring it back this morning."

"C'mon, Elmer!" She kissed his pimply cheek. "I don't want today to end! Tell your dad it broke down or someth--"

Their rearview mirror shattered, spraying them with glass. Elmer yanked the steering wheel, sending their car careening into the gulch on the side of the road.

He stopped the car, and when Franny stopped screaming, they went out to survey the damage.

"My dad's gonna kill me," moaned Elmer.

"YOUR dad's gonna kill you? We almost died! Someone just shot out our window!"

As they argued, a black figure was visible in the distance, walking toward them. As it came closer, Franny realized it was a woman, carrying a suitcase and with a rifle slung across her shoulder.

"Hey! You shot my mirror! You're gonna pay for this!" hollered Elmer, before she leveled the gun at him. "Giddown on the ground," she said quietly.

Soon they were face-down on the road, Franny weeping and Elmer whimpering "Please don't hurt us," he moaned. "Take anything you want, just leave us alone! Take my watch, take anything!"

"Only thing I want is your car, so give up them keys." The woman was standing over them impassively, the barrel glinting in the sunlight. She was not a tall woman, but her quiet voice held a threat that seemed to make her tower over both of them. She had sloping shoulders and jet-black hair that was carefully coiffed and curled in a poodle cut, and a blank face with long eyelashes and a red mouth. Her dress was violet, with a lace collar and cuffs, and as Elmer threw her his keys and she turned, Franny noticed blood smears on her neck and arms. 

Oh Jesus Crackers. Had she murdered someone? Was she on the run? Would she murder them too? "Please don't hurt me. We'll never tell anyone we saw you...promise..."

The woman flicked her impassive black eyes down on them, and back to the car. She got in the front seat and slammed the door behind her, then with a rattle of the engine, set off down the road, going twice the speed limit.

Franny waited until the car was a speck in the distance, then sat up. "Elmer, you yellow-bellied coward! Why didn't you attack her? You're a man, you should have done something! Now we're going to have to walk all the way home--"

***

Rosannah waited until she was a ways down the road, then consulted the map in the glove compartment. The car smelled like oil and filled with old wrappers and tools. It was sputtering, but she was sure that she would be able to make good time before they put a search out for her.  _I shoulda shot them kids. They know what I look like and where I am._ She shook her head.  _I got enough blood on my hands. They didn't do nothin._

The road sign said Henderson, 5 miles. Rosannah glanced at the map again. She needed a plan, and fast.

Could she make it to the Mexico border? It would be easy to cross, vanish in one of those small desert towns and teach English for the rest of her life. The question was, could she make it in time before they closed the border and put a look out on her? She had killed a man in cold blood and assaulted a federal agent. She was Public Enemy Number 1.

_Every fed with their head screwed on right is gonna think I'm heading for the Rio Grande. But I'm never gonna make it there, especially in this dinky sputtering little car. It's hundreds of miles away, they're gonna catch me before I reach it._

There was a milkshake half-full of melted ice cream lodged in the door, and she guzzled it down eagerly. She'd never tasted anything half as sweet.

A plan was beginning to form in her head.

***

Rosannah Semple was heading south.

When the signs began to switch from English to Spanish, she parked the car beside a roadside stand and paid the Abuelita a few dollars for some apples. A Mexican boy was sitting cross-legged on the table. "Where are ya headed? It's gettin awful late. Ya need a place to stay?"

"No, thank you," she said softly. "I'm actually headed farther south. To Mexico."

Rosannah got back in the car and drove on. It had been a full day and a half. Now, there were almost assuredly people looking for her. She chose a conspicuous hillside and abandoned the car, then yanked out several wires behind the hood to make it seem as if it had broken down. Then she set off in the other direction.

Night had fallen. The prairie had turned into swampy grassland.

The abandoned car would lead them into believing it had broken down, and if they talked to the boy, they would believe she was on her way to Mexico on foot. But she was going the exact other direction.

She was heading for the Louisiana state border.

***

The South was big, ancient and mistrustful, like a beast hiding in the woods. You could disappear in the midwest, in Oregon, in California, but in the South, you could disappear and nobody would tell. Mistrust of the government spanned centuries, ever since that fateful Civil War. Fugitives disappeared deep in the hills and swamps, never to be heard from again.

Her legs ached and she was running on no sleep. 

Louisiana border: Five miles.

She would go east. As east as she possibly could. 

When she finally crossed the Louisiana border she nearly collapsed. She crawled under a rotten wooden bridge and drifted off to sleep. She woke once, when the distant baying of hunting dogs reached her ears.

The bridge she was under had a shelf of ground that disappeared into a murky, reeking swamp. A dead opossum floated on the green pond scum The wooden pole she was resting in was cold and slimy against her back.

Rosannah huddled down, heart thudding in the darkness, as the baying became closer. Did the dogs have her scent? They were too close for her to run. She hoped that the proximity to the water would throw them off. They came closer and closer until her ears rung. Until finally the thud of paws thundered overhead, followed by heavy bootclomps, and yells of "Fucker's still runnin'!" "Git that coon!" and "Tree it, Lightning!"

Her whole body relaxed, and she slumped againt the bridge. The relief was so great it made her mind spiral into sleep, surrounded by the night sounds of the swamp and watched by the beady eyes of dozens of animals.

***

Rosannah woke the next day, splashed some water on her face, and changed into a sleeveless sundress from her suitcase. It didn't do much for the smell--she practically had stink lines coming off her--but she at least looked presentable.

Cicadas were buzzing, humming in the air, thick fog lying over the surface of the swamp like a cobweb. The trees sprouted out of the murky water like grasping fingers. Louisiana was different, much different from the looming crests of the Ozarks. She felt like she was being watched. She moved on.

Rosannah walked until she reached a trail, and from there she made her way to Shreveport. 

Shreveport was lovely and sunny, a cheerful Southern city with clean brick buildings and bright flags flying over the street. There were restaurants open and children playing baseball in a grassy field beside a school.

Rosannah liked Shreveport, but knew she couldn't stay. She needed to go farther, farther away from her crimes, from the trail of blood that snaked behind her.

She bought a train ticket at the station and boarded the train, not caring where she was going, just wanting to get away, as far as she could, as far east as she could go, until her fingertips touched the Atlantic Ocean. She sat at the back, and the smell coming off her assured her a booth all to herself.

Her legs hurt. The place between her legs hurt. The Marshal had been rough, rougher than she was used to. Her husband had just climbed on top of her and spent himself. Jeremiah Crawford had made sure she hurt, ploughed her deeply with his cock and laughed at her squeals of pain.

Rosannah blinked, leaning her head against the polished wood wall of the railcar. For some reason, her husband's face kept rising in her mind to replace Jeremiah. Not the way he was when she died, but when they were young and in love. His hair, so blond, so much like the Marshal's. The way he kissed her on their wedding day.

She thought of Dale's face. She had barely known him, but his kindness and bashfulness struck her deep. Ellison was such a good child. And Erleen too, her favorite student. Both of them had liked her, had loved her, and when she thought back to them, she thought of her own baby, and her big dark eyes and her smile and her laughter--

The train ground to a halt, and her eyes fluttered open. How long had she slept? It had to have been at least half a day, maybe more. 

"Passengers disembark. We have arrived in Savannah, Georgia."

***

Savannah, Georgia, looked out to sea. Rivers and inlets spidered the wet, swampy marsh surrounding it, islands dotting the blue sea. As she disembarked, the smell of the sea was in the air.

The train station was old and brick, towering over the flood of passengers. Most were greeting relatives or being picked up by shiny black taxis, and Rosannah joined the trickle that filtered into the cobblestone streets.

Savannah was big, and bright, and airy. The cobblestone streets clicked under her heels. The sky was clear and blue, and cute, two-story apartment houses lined the street, all streaked with ivy and with black lattice on the gates and doors. Larger Victorian houses were brightly colored, ivy green and sky blue and buttery yellow, with turrets that overlooked the city, wraparound porches and oaks streaming with spanish moss. Women sat sipping cold drinks on second floor verandas with arched ceilings, gossipping and laughing.

Robins chirped and bathed in the clear marble fountains. A tall dark statue of a colonial figure stood, hand on his scabbard, looking broodingly down at the milling denizens of the square.

Rosannah liked it already. This was a place she could settle down.

A busker was twanging a banjo in a large green square, and the music and clear air put her in a good mood. She sat down on an iron curved bench and soaked in the atmosphere for a while, the hanging spanish moss, the peace, the way people never rushed but greeted friends on the street and laughed together. The sun was bright on her shining hair and warmed her black heart.

Yes. She would stay here for a long time.

***

There was a job billboard on a post in the middle of the square, and she went to peruse it. She needed a job to afford a place--any job along as she could get it quick. Dishwasher... waitress... janitor... none appealed. Until she sifted through the sheaves of paper nailed up and found one, weathered by the elements but still legible. It seemed to have been there a long time.

FULL TIME GOVERNESS AND HOUSEMAID WANTED. FOOD AND BOARD PROVIDED. INQUIRE 912-229-1840. 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are, Savannah! The city of secrets. And oh boy is there gonna be a lot of them.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rosannah has found a new home and a new identity--now all she needs is a new job. An intriguing job offer points her to a mysterious plantation called Bethlehem Hall.

After hours upon hours trekking through the outskirts of Savannah, Rosannah was forced to admit something: she was hopelessly lost.

The outskirts were trashier--bars on the windows, potholes, overgrown trees and lawns. Finally she entered a diner where an old man in a beret was smoking a cigar in the corner. A girl, probably his daughter judging by the square jaw they shared, was cleaning the counter with a rag. Key lime pie and cheesecake sat staling behind glass cases.

"Excuse me, sir," she said to the man, "But could you tell me how to get to--" she glanced at the hotel paper pad where she had written details of her destination-- "Bethlehem Hall?"

***

Her phone interview had gone well. The man on the other end had been personable, if flirty. Asked her name and background, which she had already hammered out beforehand: Edith McCurdy, a young woman from Arkansas who had moved to Georgia to find work. He had given her details about where to come for her next interview and asked if she was free for a date that night. She told him no and hung up.

Rosannah was supposed to go to a place called Bethlehem Hall just outside of Savannah. The name encouraged her--with a name like that, they were clearly well-to-do. Which was why she was so surprised when he choked on his cigar. "Hell, girl! Why you wanna go there? Unless--" he peered closely at her-- "You ain't the new maid, are you?"

Her brief, shocked silence told him all you need to know. The girl threw her rag down on the counter and said, "Honey pie, you need to find some other job."

"What? What on earth should I be worried about?"

"The folks who live there ain't right," said the old man. "Got devil's blood in them."

The girl rolled her eyes. "Dad, stop with your superstitious bullshit." She turned to Rosannah. "They've gone through about one housemaid a month. The women can't stay any longer. They all quit and leave town."

"Wh-why?"

"Cursed land. Cursed blood. The Beauforts have been like that as far back as anyone can remember. All I can say is, the swamp must have closed over their head at some point or another. Had to have been after the Civil War, when Clement Beaufort lost his fortune."

"Shush, Dad. The Beauforts are an important family 'round here. They're big in breeding horses, historical preservation and such. One of the oldest founding families in Savannah. Used to have branches all over the place, Beauforts in the City Hall, Historical Preservation Society, Council, and of course, the mayor would always be a Beaufort. Bethlehem Hall was the biggest plantation on this side of Georgia. If you want to go there, you'll want to take a taxi. It's remote." She looked out the window, her dark eyes contemplative. 

"There's only four people there now. Robert, his daughter, his uncle, and his brother. The younger son's all right, but Lord above, Robert. His mother passed away two years ago, and after Perdita died Bobby became unmanageable. Very demanding. The governesses simply can't put up with him--they all leave. I'm warning you right now, don't go to that place. You'll just leave more miserable than when you arrived."

"There's dark energies on that plantation," said the man. "My grandmother, rest her soul, she'd never even go near the road that led there. The Beauforts, living there for so long--the things that happened on that land--"

The girl rolled her eyes and left through a door to a back room. The man leaned forward. His unused cigar smoldered on the tabletop of the booth. 

"I heard say a story, before the Civil War, before they lost their fortune. A girl, a daughter of the family, had done something real wrong. She'd done fallen in love with a slave on the plantation. When the family got wind of it, they took her up to the attic and locked her in there. They ate their dinners while she screamed and banged at the door just above them."

The diner had taken on an eerie silence. There was no one there but her and the old man, and the walls felt like they were closing in on her.

"Did she... die?" Her question followed the silence. 

"Oh, she did alright. She died up there."

"She starved?"

He gave a reedy laugh. "You don't die of starvation first. You die of thirst. When they finally came back and opened the attic door, they found her dead. She had ripped her own wrists open to drink the blood."

Rosannah swallowed. She was suddenly thirsty.

The girl came back through the door, carrying a box of napkins. "He isn't telling you one of his tall tales, is he?" 

Her voice startled her out of her reverie. "No. I was just getting on my way. Thank you."

Rosannah left and went to hail a taxi, although the man's words still lingered in her brain.

***

The man had been right--it was remote. The road had been paved at one point--and richly. But disuse and lack of repairs had cracked and stained the stones. The forest was wild and thick, like the hide of some feral animal. Occasionally barns or ramshackle trailers would dot the roadside and the wide expanses of swamp, and the mistrustful gazes of the people stared into her very soul. When they saw the car, they ushered their children in and stood in the doorway, eyes following them warily until they were out of sight.

Soon, the road spread out wider, and a tall, arching, black-latticed gate blocked their way. It was tall enough to reach the beginning of the trees' greenery, rusted and ancient. Around it loomed a stone wall, the stones crumbling and damp with moss.

Rosannah paid the driver and stepped out, feeling very small. 

She opened the unlocked side gate door, which was set into the stone wall. It made a screeching noise as she pulled it open.

The wide cobblestone street beyond had been grand once. But now trees grew wild along the road, creeping into the stones and spidering through the cracks.

There was an unnatural silence in the air. Birds didn't chirp. The wind didn't rustle the trees. She heard her heels click on the road, she heard herself breathing, but she heard nothing else.

Tall, grand oaks lined the vast boulevard. They spidered into the sky and dripped with spanish moss, their fingers reaching down into hell just as the branches of the trees spiralled into heaven. Rosannah walked down the center of the boulevard, very aware of the silence and aloneness.

Finally, something began to peer through the gaps in the sweeping spanish moss. A tall, stone figure. As she emerged into what looked like a courtyard, she got a good look at it. In the middle of a stone square was a statue of a woman.

The statue was tall and marble, pure white--or, it had been at one time. Age and moss had covered her in shades of black, dusting the folds of her robe and the carved edge of her hair. She was kneeling on an altar, chin in her hand, a sad and contemplative look on her face. The sculptor had done a good job. She looked as if she had witnessed a tragedy that was gnawing on her  _(had she?)._

"Like it?" 

Rosannah started. The sudden clop of a horse struck the stones as she whipped around and saw a young man leading his horse around the square. He wasn't wearing a shirt, was what her flustered mind immediately noticed. He wore jockey breeches, boots and nothing else. 

He led his dapple gray over to the statue. "Blanche Beaufort," he said in a Georgia drawl. "Died when she was eighteen, just before she was aught to get married. Her father was distraught. He never wanted to let her out of his sight again, so he buried her right here in front of the house. He'd sit in the attic for hours, looking out the window at Blanche's statue."

"That's such a sad story," she said softly. The look on the statue's face seemed to be even sadder when she looked at it.

The man rolled his eyes. "Where are my manners! Leland Jackson Beaufort. Lee. We spoke on the phone." He shook her hand.

Leland had sun-kissed skin glimmering a little with sweat, and ruffled hair that fell to his cheekbones. His hair was light brown, streaked with gold, and he had a handsome, masculine face, with a broad jaw and a prominent cupid's bow on his lips. There was a scar just above his upper lip that she wondered how he had gotten.

His forehead was cinched, but that might have been because of the bright sunlight. His eyes were a very light gray that stood out in his tan face, and as they focused on her, he smiled. "You must be the new housemaid. I almost didn't recognize you. I thought you'd be older. Bobby only hires older women, but you look like you're barely out of your teens."

Rosannah had married at fifteen, given birth at sixteen and killed her husband at nineteen. "I'm twenty-four," she said.

"Well, pardon my French, but you're the best damned twenty-four I've ever seen in my life. You are simply blossoming."

He was flirting with her, and he winked at her. In that winsome, coquettish sort of way he reminded her of the Marshal, and her husband, but he lacked their hard-bitten quality. Lee spoke in a soft voice, and was not rough or overbearing. He had kind eyes. 

"Come inside," he said, offering his arm. "The interview won't take long. They never do."

***

As soon as she saw the house, she felt as if her heart had fallen down a deep pit. Something about it unearthed a prinal feeling of fear inside her--why, she did not know.

It rose out of the mists like a giant behemoth. Vast, towering domes held up a roof that might have been white once, but which decay had rotted and caved in in spots. Lines of windows studded the second and first floors, looking out over her like the many jet-black eyes of a spider. 

Bethlehem Hall had been grand, oh yes, the Pearl of the South. When the swampy acres around it had been fertile and lined with rows upon rows of cotton, it had stood white and gleaming, domes strong, but time and the changing years had taken its toll.

The wraparound porch was large, and empty, and reached right around the vast mansion, peering through domes of its own like a suspicious mother. The mansion was flanked by two turrets with arched  doorways at the bottom, and tall windows at the top that were closed tightly with curtains. The mansion spread beyond that and behind, taking up a vast amount of land. Moss and ivy crept up its side like a slow-spreading rot, smothering its white walls with layers of thick kudzu.

A siniliar wraparound porch surrounded the second story, where one could sit behind the balcony and sip a cold drink and observe the goings-on of the Bethlehem Hall lands.

At the very top, set into the roof, was one large blank window. Rosannah could imagine the father of Blanche Beaufort looking out at the peaceful, dissonant statue of his daughter day after day, seated in front of that vast dark window. She wondered if he blamed himself for the death of his child.

She certainly had.

The smell of decay was thick in the air as she approached the house. The white marble staircase leading to the door was spread onto the ground, narrowing as it reached the porch. She felt as if she were being trapped with every step she made. The doors were double, painted with peeling white paint, and the knocker was in the shape of a gargoyle. Leland pulled it open to meet a vast, dark unknown.

***

A large room greeted them. It was tall-ceilinged, done in darkly-furnished wood and red velvet, and in the middle, a large, spiraling staircase reached into the blackness of the upper floors. Doors leading to grandly-lavished rooms surrounded the room, hallways branching off from there. Leland helped her up the first step.

Lee led her up the creaking stairs to the second floor, and a hall greeted her. All the curtains lining the hall were drawn tight, casting the rooms and hallways in shadow. Rosannah was quivering. There were dark forces at work here, she could sense it. Staring at her. Deep in the peeling walls and dark hallways.

Crucifixes lined the space between the doors and the hallways. Golden, with a fascimile of Jesus on the cross. The shadows of the hallway cast his features dark, the agony of his face starkly intense. He guided her to a large, ornate door with candle holders on each side.

"The new hire's here for an interview. Edith, I think?" He looked at her quizzically.

After a sound of affirmation, Lee ushered her in and closed the door behind her.

The room was dark. Every window but one was curtained, smothering the room in shadows. She could make out shapes of furniture, but just barely.

A silhouette was standing by the white window, the only light in the room, pipe in his hand. He had obviously been watching her as she approached his house.

The smell of smoke was thick in the air,  and she suppressed a cough. From the light surrounding his profile, she saw a straight nose and high cheekbones, a well-shaped, set mouth, and hard eyes staring straight ahead. His features were beautiful, regal, and cold, as cold as his voice when he spoke.

"Take a seat," he said without looking at her.

Rosannah took a seat behind a polished wood table. Still holding his pipe, he turned to face her. His eyes were icy pale, almost colorless. They made a shiver work its way down their spine with their mirthlessness.

"Edith McCurdy?" He said. His voice was sharp and no-nonsense. She immediately could tell what kind of person he was. He was dressed in a natty suit, cream-colored with a golden tie and white cuffs. It was nearly buttoned up to his collarbone. He wore a panama hat on his golden head, every inch the Southern gentleman.

No, not golden. It was more silvery, ash-blond, coming closer to white. It was swept across his forehead and combed at the sides in an elegant side-part. He was sharply handsome, but his mouth was set in a downturn.

"Yes," she said.

"You said over the phone you have experience with children." 

If there was one thing she was good at, it was taking care of children. Rosannah had been the unofficial babysitter of Clareton Missouri. She had taken care of her baby girl with a desperation most women could only dream of, and spent months as the only schoolteacher of a town and loved every minute of it. She was a natural nurturer and adored children.

Rosannah hoped he wouldn't ask for references.

"Yes, I watched children as a job, home in Arkansas," she lied. "I was nanny for a month in Little Rock for a foreign couple, I believe they returned to Germany."

"Excellent. Your experience seems to be satisfactory, then. Now, as I'm sure my brother has informed you, I prefer not to hire younger women, due to their habits of turning their dwellings into dens of iniquity. However, due to turnover, I have been forced to consider employing a younger woman."

_What?_

"Therefore, there are several questions related to your age I must ask you. Are you a virgin?"

Rosannah was insulted enough to consider walking out. But she needed this job. Was Edith McCurdy a virgin? She decided she was.

"Yes."

"Any boyfriends? Sweethearts?" His eyes bore into her. Pale. Pale as his hair. An icy mixture of blue and gray that was the color of a frozen waterfall.

"No."

"Good. I do not want my ancestral home turned into a brothel. Women these days don't follow the Bible like they used to. They spread their legs for anyone. I've even had that problem with several of our older maids. Male friends--and I use that term loosely--will not be allowed in this house. If I find one, it will result in your immediate termination and withdrawal of back wages. Linney Belle needs a strong female role model to assure she doesnt grow up to be--" he spat. "Her mother."

Rosannah's smile was becoming rather forced, but she wasn't sure that he noticed. His discontent was obvious, his eyes narrowing and his round fingernails tapping the desk top.

"Second of all." His pale eyes slid distastefully over her body, and she suppressed a shudder. "You'll have to dress more... plainly."

Rosannah looked down at herself in surprise. She had worn a modest, slim-fitting blue dress and bonnet--in fact, she had picked the most conservative clothing in her wardrobe. She pressed her legs together.

"This is a god-fearing household. You'll have to wear long sleeves. And the hem has to reach past your ankles. I will have no short skirts, loose blouses or any form of immodest dress in this house."

"I... yes, sir." 

Robert Beaufort took a puff of his corncob pipe. He stood straight-backed, formally, as if he were in a meeting. "The salary is thirty dollars per day. Are you able to start immediately? It is tiresome taking care of the household, especially as the Savannah Fair is coming up and my family has always been involved in the planning and judging thereof."

Thirty dollars? Rosannah couldn't believe her ears. With that salary she would have enough money for a house in a year. She immediately came to a decision.

"I can indeed. Let me just go and pick my luggage up from my hotel and--"

"That won't be neccessary. I'll have it shipped here." He was standing up, straightening his cream suit and smoothing his silvery hair back. "So far, I'm impressed. You seem to understand that women, like children, should be seen and not heard. A quiet woman is a virtuous woman. Keep acting like this and we'll have a very comfortable arrangement between us."

***

"Linney Belle lives near the back of the house," Robert Beaufort said, holding the door open for her in that Southern manner he'd been taught. Maid or family or stranger, women always had doors opened for them in the Old South.

"You'll be living right above her, so if she needs something, she will call you."

"Linney Belle? Your daughter?"

"Supposedly. Her mother was the Whore of Babylon. Linney Belle could be the daughter of anyone in this god damned city. The slut dumped her with me and ran off. The only thing I can say is that at least I didn't marry the woman, or else she'd have half my fortune." The venom in his tone as he talked about his ex-fiance made her flinch.

He rapped smartly on the door. "Linney Belle, come out and greet your new governess."

The door was opened by a timid little girl in a ruffled green dress. Her hair was cut in a shoulder-length bob. Her eyes were bright green, and her hair was a silvery-blonde, the way children's hair often was, the sort that often darkened with age. She wore green ribbons in it to keep it out of her pale face.

Linney Belle curtseyed stiffly. "Pleased to meet you."

"My name's Miss McCurdy, but you can call be Edie," Rosannah said kindly.

"McCurdy," said Robert sharply. "There are some ground rules of living in my house. One: The attic or the wine cellar are off limits. Do not enter them under any circumstances.

"As is the back wing of the top floor. If I send you there to fetch something, you will do so and leave as quickly as possible. I had better not ever find you any of those places, and if I do, you'll be sorry. You must refer to me as Mr. Beaufort, not Bobby or Robert. When you live here, you will do nothing but cook, clean, teach Linney Belle, and  _obey_. Is that understood?"

Rosannah nodded wordlessly.

"Linney Belle, show the new governess around and introduce her to Uncle Ezra. I have business I must attend to." He wordlessly turned and swept away down the empty hall, saddle shoes clicking on the bare floorboards.

Linney Belle silently took Rosannah's hand in her cold hand and pulled her away to the other side of the hall, toward the dark end, unlit by anything but the light filtering through the closed curtains. It loomed beyond them like a dimension to another world, a dim hole beckoning them to step through.

In the shaded blue light of the hallway her face was serene, pale and smooth, and knowledgeable in a way that sparked a certain visceral fright inside of her.

"You're not going to be here very long," she said flatly. 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *inserts pages upon pages of dense architecture description*  
> Belle Grove Plantation, Louisiana, is the main reference I used. Fantastic example of antebellum architecture.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On her first day, Rosannah tries to bond with the quiet, silver-haired daughter of the Beaufort family-- and has a night fright.

The kitchen was gigantic, fit for fixing suppers for a ballroom of people. Save for a corner stove and counter, it was covered with a thick layer of dust. Pots and pans that looked as if they hadn't been used in decades were cluttered on the surfaces.

Linney Belle pointed to a door on the far side of the kitchen. Rosannah hadn't even noticed it at first--it was concealed in the shadow of a massive cabinet.

"That's the wine cellar. You ain't never supposed to go back in there." 

_That's the wahn sella._ Linney had the cutest little Southern Lady accent.

"Why can't you go back there, honey?"

Linney Belle brushed her question off like a fly. "This is the back staircase. This leads to the other floors. The servants used to use it so they wouldn't disturb the grand company."

This flight of stairs was rickety and narrow, with a low ceiling. Cobwebs piled under the chipped bannisters. The door at the top creaked abominably, and they emerged into a long hallway lined with portraits.

They met Lee going in the other direction.

"Hi, Uncle Lee," said Linney Belle.

"Hi, baby doll. Showing the new nanny around?"

"Uh huh."

"She's the most wonderful little tour guide." Rosannah squeezed Linney's shoulders and looked up at Lee. "It's big," the older woman said. "The house."

"I know you was talkin' about the house. Ain't only one other big thing you could be talkin about." He winked. Rosannah blushed and looked away. 

"I'm gonna introduce her to Uncle Ezra next."

"You go do that. Don't let that old man scare you." He caught Rosannah's shoulder as she passed him. "I have a feeling you're gonna do just find here. Don't sweat nothin', Edie."

If only she could take his advice. As they continued down the hall, she felt prickles down her neck. All the portraits seemed to be watching her, unmoving faces frozen in an expression similar to distaste.

She could see snatches of features passed down, a pair of lips, a pale eye here and there. And of course, that silvery blonde hair. Most of the men seemed to have gone bald early, a bad sign for the poor Beaufort brothers.

They took a turn into a circular sitting room that she assumed meant that they were in one of the turrets.

"Come on. I'm taking you to meet Uncle Ezra."

The room they entered next was dim and dank, smelling unmistakably of sickness and age. A cramped armchair sat beneath narrow windows covered with thick curtains. The wallpaper was peeling and showing bare in places.

Rosannah tripped over a discarded shoe as Linney Belle led her over to a large bed in the middle of the room, covered so thickly with blankets that she nearly didn't notice the frail, liver-spotted head poking out.

The man was so deathly still that for a moment Rosannah suspected the worst before Linney Belle said, "Uncle Ezra?"

His eye slid open. She wasn't sure whether its paleness was natural or the rheuminess of age. It stared blankly as the eyes of a taxidermied animal.

"This is the new maid, Miss McCurdy. She'll be taking care of you."

A slight wheezing sound erupted from his slack lips. Rosannah stepped forward. "It's good to meet you, sir. I--"

"WHORE!" the man shouted, so suddenly that Rosannah jumped back. "FUCKING BITCH! YOU'RE HERE TO KILL ME! I'LL NOT LET MYSELF ME TAKEN UNAWARE! GET OUT! GET--"

He hadn't had to tell her twice. She had already fled the room and was sitting down on a threadbare ouch, shaking. She heard the little patter of Mary Janes as Linney Belle came to sit down beside her.

"Does he do that a lot?" Asked Rosannah.

"Sometimes. Uncle Ezra's a little crazy. He used to be a preacher, but now he's old and his mind is going. Uncle Lee says he's shocked that he's still alive."

"He doesn't yell at you, does he?"

"Yeah he does. But Uncle Ezra yells at everybody. I'm used to it. Papa yells at me a lot, too. He calls me a little bastard and tells me I won't get a cent of his inheritance and says I'm not his daughter. But I know I'm his daughter. I have his hair."

Rosannah looked back at the open door. There was little doubt where Robert had gotten his fanaticism from.

She turned back to Linney Belle and took her hands in her own, squeezing them warmly. She was such a beautiful little girl. Her eyes were so big and green. 

Rosannah's daughter'd had dark eyes. Like hers.

"I'll promise you something, Linney Belle. I'll never, ever yell at you."

"Some of the other nannies done yelled at me. But they all left soon anyway. Like you will." Linney was so blase about the fact it shocked her.

"Not 'done'. Just 'yelled at me'," Rosannah softly corrected. "If you want Northerners to respect you, you have to use proper phrasing."

"But that is the proper phrasing."

Rosannah smiled. "I know. But they don't see it like that." She took Linney's hand and spun her around. "Why don't you take me to your room? We can play for a bit and then we'll start our lessons."

***

"This is Wind in the Willows."

"What's it about?"

"It's about a toad." Linney Belle sounded bored, fixing a green ribbon in her silver hair.

All Rosannah knew about toads was that she would catch them sometimes in the pond and they would attempt to mate with her hand. And that their eggs were useful in a... number of ways. 

Linney Belle's room was done in pink and neatly arranged, probably by her father. A large closet housed her dresses, and China figurines of ballet dancers and elephants lined her walls. Several threadbare teddies were tucked under her flower print duvet.

"What's his name?" Asked Rosannah, picking up a teddy and smoothing her fingers over the black beads of his eyes.

"Her name's Perdita. Like Mamaw."

"You loved your Mamaw, huh?"

"She used to put makeup and jewelry on me. But she wasn't happy about me. She used to fight with Papa. She told him thay he should have never gotten involved with my mother. Said I was a blight on the Beaufort name."

Rosannah felt a tug in her chest. Children shouldn't feel that way. Children shouldn't  _ever_  be made to feel that way.

"You're a beautiful little girl. The world is lucky to have you."

Linney Belle blithely ignored her. She was looking out the window at a stray branch of an oak that cast a shadow across her floor.

Rosannah felt mildly frustrated, but children were hard nuts to crack. "How many times tables do you know?"

***

When the day was over with, every part of Rosannah ached and she was sure she would fall asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow. 

After Rosannah got a good understanding of where Linney was academically (a very smart little girl who liked reading and was a grade ahead) Robert had called on her to make lunch. After that, she swept the floors and did some cleaning in the decrepit living room. With two men living alone, she was surprised it didn't look worse. She opened the curtains, did some dusting and at the end of the day it looked marginally better than it had before.

After a day of cleaning, Rosannah's luggage had arrived, and she carefully took all her photographs and jewelry and stowed it in the dresser Robert had provided.

Her room was big--a guest bedroom, she supposed, unusually tidy. The governesses must all have been given the same room. As soon as she had stepped in, she felt cold. Something dead swept over her brain for a moment before she was blinking and back in reality.

There was a large carved vanity in the corner with a board nailed over the mirror, and a window overlooking the back of the house. The bed was a four-poster monster that looked like it needed a ladder to climb into, covered by a frayed quilt. Velour chairs surrounded a small round table, and black-framed photographs of old Savannah hung on the dark wallpaper. There was a large walk-in closet as well, but when she tried the knob, it was locked.

There were a lot of locked rooms in Bethlehem Hall.

Yes, the room was perfect. Roomy. But she felt uncomfortable. Maybe it was the plank nailed over the mirror. The way the light glinted dully off the locked closet doorknob. Or the black-and-white pictures of long-dead people and long-gone buildings, glaring down at her.

She hoped she would get used to it.

Rosannah finished unpacking and knelt down to say her prayers. Then she switched off the lamp and lay back in bed. 

Moonlight filtered through the window. Her eyes drifted shut. Tomorrow was going to be a big day. She had to do more cleaning... in that labyrinthine, dark house... each and every room that Linney Belle had pointed her to, and which were quickly fading out of memory.

***

_"Thought you'd seen the last of me, huh, sweetheart?" Purred a voice._

_The cold tip of a revolver nudged her head. The Marshal was standing in front of her,_ _half his face a ruined carcass. His blank blue eye stared at her with a twinkle, even as its twin was a gaping red hole._

_His erection pressed against his belly, his tall, thick cock angry and red._

_"How about you suck my dick, darlin?"_

_***_

BANG. BANG. BANG.

Rosannah awoke so suddenly she was not sure whether she was fully out of her dream when the shuddering  _bangs_ came again, hideous and frantic and coming right above her. As if someone was just above her, hammering at the window to break through. They came one after another, pounds steady and fast and so hard they trembled the ceiling above her and made specks of paint rain down on her.

Rosannah was out of her room in a heartbeat, fleeing through the mansion in a frenzy. "Mr. Beaufort! Lord above, Mr. Beaufort!"

The heavy thuds echoed behind her, shaking the whole hallway 

The patriarch of the Beaufort family emerged from his room, still fully dressed at this time of night--probably still going over the fair arrangements. "What is the matter? Miss McCurdy, are you decent?"

"I can hear something above my room!" wailed Rosannah. "Someone is trying to break in!"

Robert cursed, and hurriedly grabbed a pistol from the side table. He loaded it, snapped the barrel shut, and went striding out, hair glinting silver in the candlelight. Leland had come out because of the commotion, holding a torch.

All three stalked outside, where Robert strode fearlessly toward the side of the massive plantation, revolver at his side. He was straight-backed and merciless, strong features set and eyes pale enough to show up white as a demon's.

At night, the mansion seemed deader, eerier. The black night swathed it, the moonlight shining off it like some white crouching beast, tall and hulking and abandoned with its crumbling domes.

The side was thickly covered with ivy, the windows peeking through like a beady black eye. Leland fanned his torch across the broad wall until the light disappeared into the thick leaves.

"I don't see nothin'."

Rosannah was still shaking. "I heard somebody banging on the floor above me. Like they were trying to... to get in." 

Robert slid his gun in his pocket and turned to Rosannah, mouth curling in annoyance. When he saw that she was in only a nightgown, his face flushed scarlet and he hurriedly took off his sports jacket and draped it around her shoulders. "Good god! Cover yourself!"

Leland switched off his torch, leaning one-handed against the side of the building. He had a cigarette dangling from his mouth. "Coulda just been a branch coming loose and hitting the window."

"No. No. It definitely wasn't a branch. It was somebody, I know it was." She looked out at the swampy expanse surrounding the plantation, the glimmering pools of murky water that dotted the ground. 

Robert looked over at her, his hard face hardening even more. Had the man ever smiled once in his life? His eyes glinted icily in the torchlight. "Next time a tap on your window frightens you, don't come fleeing for me. I know women are natural hysterics, but I won't stand for any of this in my house. This is not a good end to your first day, McCurdy. Don't disappoint me like this again."

Rosannah lowered her head. "I'm sorry. I just--"

"Are you talking back to me?" His voice snapped like a whip.

"...no, sir."

"Then go to bed. You have to get up early and make breakfast. And clean the bathroom, we'll be having guests over in a few weeks. You did a piss-poor job of the living room, see if you can move your lazy self to make more of an effort this time before I throw you out on the streets."

***

Rosannah walked back to her room, head bowed, and Leland came with her. The thumps has ceased, and her room was eerie and quiet again.

"Don't take it personally. He's like this with all the maids. He's not singling you out."

He sat down beside her on the bed, his weight making her shift towards him.

"Edith. Let me tell you something. I don't just do this for everyone, but I like you. You're a sweet, quiet girl and I'd like to see you stay."

_Oh, Lee. If you only knew the truth._

"Around here.... sometimes, you're going to see things. Things you can't explain. But it's better to ignore them and pretend you didn't see them. Don't let them have any power over you. It's better that way."

She blinked.  _What?_  What was he talking about? Her insides erupted in forboding.

He really did have remarkably pleasant features. The resemblance between him and his brother was clear, their nose and their cheekbones and their eyes. But they seemed softer somehow on Lee. His eyes were pale. But they reminded her of a stone in a stream, not an icicle.

He paused, then leaned forward to press his lips on her forehead. They were dry and warm as he whispered against her skin.

"Are you still afraid? I'll spend the night with you, if you like." His voice had dropped to a murmur. His hand slid onto her knee, not moving anywhere near her thighs, but heavy, its hot dampness soaking through the thin fabric of her nightgown. He slowly rubbed his thumb over her skin.

Rosannah was nervy and suspicious. "Wouldn't your brother object?"

"What he doesn't know won't hurt him." Lee tucked a stray curl behind her ear, his fingers lingering on her face and curving softly around her cheek.

"I--no. No thank you." She moved her knee out of his grip. Her heart was thumping. He was her employer's brother. It wouldn't be decent.

"Well, consider it a standing offer. Perhaps the things that go bump in the night would leave you alone if there were a man with you. Sleep well, sweet Edie." He flashed her a charming smile and got up. She waited for him to leave and locked the door, just in case.

_Men are all the same,_ she sighed inwardly.  _They all want one thing._ Jack would get mean if she refused to let him get into bed with her. She had recieved several thrashings, but he had always backed off after that.

At first.

Lee was sweet and gentle, but her husband had been at first, too. Drink had sapped the kind green from his eyes and the rosiness from his lips, and distributed it around his cheeks in an ugly flush. His piggish, lustful eyes leered in her memory.

Rosannah lay in bed, heart thumping, her entire body on the tip of a pin. She kept expecting the bangs to start again, and as she waited, she thought back to the outside of the house, and realized with a start,  _my room is just below the attic._

_Perhaps the noise wasn't someone trying to get in,_ she thought with a slow sort of sorrow.  _It was someone trying to get out._

She thought of a girl with tears in her eyes, blood streaming down her wrists. The attic was large and empty, and the girl was alone.

Rosannah slept, but she did not sleep well. Her dreams were full of violation and regret, as her life had been. 

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The coldness of the house closes in on Rosannah as she recieves an intriguing offer. Someone is hunting her.

 

"I told you we should have reported this!"

Franny hissed to her (ex) boyfriend as they sat behind the interrogation table. The Texas prison cell was cold and cramped, and goosebumps were rising beyond her pink puffed sleeves.

The door swung open, then slammed shut as a man stepped in, dressed in a black stetson and duster. 

"Well, howdy to y'both. Name's Crawford. Jeremiah. US Marshal." He locked the door behind him. He moved casually, draping his lean body over a chair opposite him and leaning a shining black boot on the table.

He was a tall, congenial fellow with a thick Texan accent. He had thick, dark yellow hair and a rebellious scruff of a beard on his chin--on half of his face. But the other part of his face that drew their attention was the left side--like a hideous half-mask, it was swollen, bruised and beaten until it barely resembled a human face. A dark eyepatch covered up the eye and left the rest of his face smiling. Elmer averted his eyes, but Franny couldn't stop staring.

"Elmer Barnes and Francine Huddle?"

"Yessir," they both said in unison, then glared at each other.

He lit a cigar, still smiling. "Want one?"

"Uh, pops doesn't let me smoke," said Elmer.

"Suit yourself." He blew a cloud of smoke in the air. "So, tell me about the day you met this mysterious woman."

"Well," said Franny "we were on our way back from the theater."

"At nine in the morning?"

"We stayed the, um, night," admitted Elmer, blushing. "And we were driving back home."

"Route 72, am I correct?"

"No, the dirt one that branches off it. The one that goes past Arden."

"And that's where you had your little accident, aye?" He leaned back, coat loose on his shoulders and jolliness in his voice. 

"Yes. Our rearview mirror--shattered. Elmer drove right into a ditch." Franny glared at Elmer.

"Turns out that a woman down the road had shot it out with a rifle." Elmer nervously scratched a pimple.

"Must have been a hell of a good shot," he laughed. "God damn, are you ever gonna live that down?"

"Yeah, tell me about it. Then while we were arguing she came down the road and aimed a gun at us."

"Describe this woman."

"Elmer didn't get a good look at her. I did." The memory of the woman with the blank face gave her nightmares sometimes. "She weren't tall, but she weren't short. She had, uh, a purple dress on. Her hair was black, and curly, so I thought she mighta been Mexican or something? It was in that cut where half of it's gathered on top of the head and half loose."

"How big were her tits?"

"What?" Franny stared blankly at him.

"She had a nice set on her, huh? You could see 'em jiggle right through her dress. And those legs! Legs for miles." His one blue eye bore intensely into them, manic and grinning.

"Did you... know her?" The temperature in the cell had dropped, almost imperceptibly.

"What did you do after she stole your car?"

"Well, we, um, walked back. And my dad gave me a hiding," said Elmer.

"And is there a reason it took you  _two weeks to report this?"_

There was a heart-stopping crack as Elmer's face hit the solid steel edge of the table. Blood spurted from his nose as his head was yanked up and slammed down again with much more force.

" _Elmer!"_ Screamed Fanny. 

"My dad didn't believe me," Elmer sobbed as Crawford held his head against the table. "He said--he said I musta crashed it and so I never--I never thought to--"

"Please stop! Let him go! As soon as we saw the posters we came to the police! We did report it!"

 _"Two. Fucking. Weeks._ _Later_. This bitch is long gone by now and if you'd have reported it earlier we'd have nabbed her." His voice has lost all mirth, and had turned into a harsh snarl. He took a revolver out of his holster and pressed it to Elmer's head, cocking it with a click.

"Do you know what you're gonna do next time you see something like that? You're gonna go to your local police station and report it straight to Uncle Sam. Or else do you know what I'm gonna do to you and your fat girlfriend?" Crawford drove the barrel into his head, punctuating his words with more force until the metal bruised his skin.

"I'm gonna make your father's hiding seem like a smack on the hand with a ruler. Because I'll fucking kill you. I'll stick my .22 in your mouth and pull the trigger til there ain't nothing left of your head. People like you let criminals get off scot-free, and he who permits evil, commits evil, in my humble god damn opinion."

Crawford let him crash to the ground, and Elmer curled up, weeping and clutching his face. Franny was at his side in an instant, winding her arms around him and pulling him protectively toward her.

She glared as Crawford turned and walked out the door without a backward glance. The door slammed shut behind him and locked with a click.

***

Sheriff Manning put out his cigarette as Crawford exited the interrogation room. "Ya didn't need to be that... overstated."

Jeremiah holstered his gun, wiping his mouth. His eye was dark in a way the Sheriff had never seen before.

"I need to find her," he hissed, eye livid and glaring into his. "This is something I need to do, Manning."

The intensity of his old friend's voice set off alarm bells inside him. The bitterness and raw hatred in his tone was unlike anything he had ever heard.

"I'm gonna find her and fuck her. So hard she'll scream and beg me to stop and beat at me. I'm gonna force my seed into her and stand back while her thighs drool white. Then I'm gonna hold my pistol to her head and make her beg forgiveness. And if I'm merciful, I'll kill her right there."

His voice was feral, spitting like a wild bobcat. His mutilated lips were drawn over his teeth.

Manning said nothing, but watched his old friend stalk away, a sense of foreboding creeping over him.

***

Living at Bethlehem Hall took adjusting to.

The house disturbed her. She kept to sunny rooms, avoiding dark corners and unused rooms with dusty furniture and drawn curtains. The coldness that came with the darkness sunk into her bones, made her head spin. It was more that once she heard a stray footstep behind her and whipped around to find out she was alone in a room.

Linney Belle was a sedate child, who learned quickly and quietly. But she stood her distance from Rosannah no matter how much she tried to make friends. 

Lee was away much of the time. Rosannah suspected he was doing things of less than moral repute, but Robert studiously ignored it.

And Robert... he handed her a list of chores each day and never bothered with her unless it was for a sermon. He was especially fond of the evilness of women, of the sins of Eve. With her and Linney as their unwilling audience, she was beginning to realize why Lee took such a laissez-faire attitude to life.

This day Rosannah was doing laundry, with Linney folding the clothes. She had had her sleeves rolled up to the elbows and was pulling the clothes out of the washer when Robert unexpectedly walked in.

The washing room was roomy. It had been a coat-hanging room at one point. The racks had been replaced by stiff white washing machines stacked on top of one another.

Robert's cheeks dusted pink at the sight of her forearms and bare legs. "Cover up! My God, woman!"

Rosannah rolled down her sleeves and put her skirt down, and he leaned against the door, studying his daughter and maid with an intensity more reserved for a hunter eying a deer.

He was wearing a white shirt and suspenders--dressed down for a man of his means, but still having an air of imperiousness.

His hair was loose and uncombed, shining in the sunlight like the hide of a palomino. A stray beam caught the iciness of his blue eyes as he tilted his head to watch them.

"Two women, doing as women should. Washing their man's clothing quietly. Is this not a beautiful sight?"

Rosannah pulled out a pair of dress pants and handed them to Linney. "Let's hang these up to dry."

"Hold on."

Robert stepped forward, and his hands went to her chest. He delicately buttoned the gaping front of her dress. "Modesty is a woman's virtue. I'll not have anybody ogling my housemaid."

 _Who's going to ogle me? The squirrels?_  No one lived for miles around. "Thank you, Mr. Beaufort."

The yard was huge and clean-cut, with a wire strung between two posts acting as a clothesline. The wind thrummed through Rosannah's hair. Lee was on the porch, cleaning a gun, and caught her eye to smile and wave.

It was a clear day, the sun shining bright. The butterflies alit on swamp flowers, and the grand oaks cast sweeping shadows over the boulevard. She hung up the shirts and ties, listening to the wind rustle the trees.

It took her a moment to realize that Linney Belle was not helping her. She was standing back, watching her with a strange look on his face.

"Linney Belle, sweetie, don't you want to help me?"

"I can see a shadow followin' you," said Linney.

Rosannah blinked and looked behind her. "It's just me and you, Linney."

"No. I see it. It's attached itself to you. And it's very, very interested in you."

A chill swept across her body, and even though the sun was shining bright, she felt cold. 

"Linney, help me hang the rest of the clothes. We have arithmetic to do later."

***

"McCurdy! Gather the child!"

Rosannah had been working for the Beauforts for several weeks. Their neverending demands weighed on her. Lee wasn't so bad, tomcatting around taken to consideration. But Robert was a ghastly overlord. Nothing was done to his liking. He always had some insult or bible verse to throw her way. He criticized her appearance constantly, wearing her down until she wanted to cry.

The only saving grace was Linney Belle. She swore to herself that she would open Linney up, and was trying her hardest to get the little girl to brighten. They had tea parties and Rosannah read to her at night and they went out to pick flowers, but she remained her terse, serious self.

Today was the all-important Sunday service for the Beaufort family. Lee and Robert were dressed to the nines in well-fitting suits and gloves, and Linney Belle was in a pink silk-ribboned dress. Rosannah had worn her best dress, one she had inherited from her grandmother, but Robert snapped at her that it "wouldn't be fit to use on a scullery maid" and gave her one of the dresses from the Beaufort family wardrobe, which was too tight and made her neck itch. She could barely move her legs to walk in it, a narrow white lace dress with long sleeves and a wide-brimmed lady's hat.

They bounced along the pitted road in a sleek black car, Rosannah holding Linney in the back, until they reached Savannah and a large white-steepled building on a busy cobblestone street.

Men and women in their Sunday best filtered through the church, the women in large floppy hats, dresses and elbow-length white gloves, and the men dressed in fine suits like the Beaufort brothers. Lee tipped his hat to a group of women giggling at him, a rakish smile on his face as they hid their faces behind their hands. 

"You must be the new governess," said a wrinkled old lady in a purple hat with a peacock feather. "How are you getting along? Bobby is very well-liked around here. But I know he can be a bit demanding."

She forced a smile. "Linney is a beautiful child. She makes it all worth it."

"How did your daughter's wedding go?"

"Are you coming to the potluck on Tuesday?"

Rosannah got a sense of community, lingering and chatting in the large, clean-swept church, even though she could tell she was being carefully excluded. She had felt community in her own church--more like a hushed, silent sort of community where people would turn a blind eye to murders. In her mind's eye, she saw her father, a preacher, heard his trembling voice as he hefted a rattlesnake high in the air, saw the spasms and frothing mouths of the congregation as something not quite of this world seized them.

But this was a prim Southern Baptist church, and she sat in the front row with Bobby and Linney and Lee sat behind them

The pastor was a small man with blond hair and neat glasses, who launched into a fiery tirade denouncing the world's evils while Bobby listened intently, focused so completely that he didn't notice when his brother leaned forward and his lips brushed Rosannah's ears.

"See why Bobby likes church so much?"

She giggled a little bit. "I'm surprised he doesn't go every day."

"You know," he said. "We have a church on our property."

She tried to twist around, but his hand on her shoulder stopped her. "Really? Why doesn't he use it?"

"Well, it's been abandoned for a long, long time. Funny story behind it, really."

"What happened?" Her interest was piqued.

She heard his smile. "It would be better if I showed you first. How about we take some time to ourselves and slip away?"

Rosannah had her reservations, but she was curious. She hadn't seen much of the plantation beyond the house. And it wouldn't hurt to scope out possible means of escape if she needed to make a break for it. 

"Alright," she said. "Show me."

***

Rain misted the hills as Sheriff Manning shielded his eyes. The detectives were examining the vehicle, the trunk, the interior.

"You're sure this is your car?"

Elmer Barnes nodded, his red hair slicked from the rain so that he resembled a weasel. "Yeah, that's it. That's the one she stole."

Manning sighed. Jeremiah was examining the surrounding areas, looking for footprints, a disturbingly intense look on her face.

"It seems pretty cut-and-dry, Jeremiah."

"No!" He slammed his fist on the car. "There's no way! I won't let it fucking happen!"

"She made it to the border. That's what the boy said. There hasn't been a single sighting of her since then. She got away, Jeremiah. It happens."

Jeremiah looked out over the dark, looming swamp. "She's still here," he said through clenched teeth. "I know it. And I'm gonna find her. Even if I have to trek every mile and climb every mountain in this god damn country."

His eye burned like a demon's in the light of the torches. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy graduation 🤗


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rosannah's little excursion doesn't go the way she planned.

 

Rosannah glided her feather duster over the thick sheen of dust covering the glass-framed pictures. Just one last sweep and her job in the sitting room would be finally done, and Robert could invite his guests in without having an apoplexy at how dirty it was.

The sitting room was done in shades of light pink and sunshine yellow, with a massive stone fireplace in the corner and a grandfather clock ticking away on the other side. Tall pink ruffled curtains were drawn on the massive double window doors, looking out into the shady boulevard of Bethlehem Hall and the tall statue that sat in repose, casting a long shadow over the cobblestones. Busts of what were either ancestors, American presidents or European kings sat on the mantle above the fireplace, staring sternly at her as if her every mistake would be reported to the master of the house.

A silver chandelier hung above them, light refracting off the crystals and casting dots of light on the richly woven, plush Persian rug underneath.

The furniture was light yellow, velour armchairs and couches and carved wooden chairs. A low, bowlegged coffee table with a lace tablecloth held an ornate blue vase bursting with wildflowers--Linney and herself had picked them the other day.It was all ready for their visitors.

Her last chore was brushing the dust off the portraits and photographs that hung on the wall. In opposition to the Hall of Portraits, some of these were family photos. There was a picture of a stern-eyed man accepting an award in front of a crowd. A small, pale-haired boy was hugging a dog, and when she peered closer, she recognized him with a start as Robert. The stony expression gave him away.

Another picture was several feet tall, of a man with a curly mustache and combed, platinum blond hair leaning against a pillar. He was wearing a white suit and had one hand in his pocket, the other on a cane. His eyes were bright, the austere black-and-white of the photo not able to sap the twinkle from them. He smiled underneath his thick mustache, corncob pipe poking out of his lips. 

"Look familiar?"

Rosannah started. Lee had entered through the double doors without her noticing, and was leaning against the door, head tilted against the doorjamb.

He was dressed to ride--there were few times he wasn't. The stables were his second home and if she couldn't find him in the house, she would go straight to the stables. Lee wore a brown waistcoat and white dress shirt with a popped collar over blue jeans. He had on a cowboy hat this time, and it made unpleasant associations erupt in her mind. "Shouldn't you take your hat off when there's a woman in the room?"

He smiled and doffed it. "My apologies."

He walked to her side where she stood in front of the picture. "Is that Robert's father? They look an awfully lot like each other."

"Not father. Uncle. Uncle Harland was my mother's brother, and he lived with us in Bethlehem Hall." He scoffed. "Hell, he was more of a father to us than our own father."

"Who was your father?" Her interest was piqued. She wanted to know more about her mysterious employers.

"Joshua Hallett. Three-star army general, served under Patton. Made his fortune plundering Nazi treasure and bringing it back to Savannah to sell. He had the money and my mother had the name, so we got to be Beauforts on paper and our old man got to live in Bethlehem Hall. Not that he was here much. He was always running from country to country on some army assignment. So Mama and Harland got to raise us."

"Is he still alive, your father?"

"No. He hung himself in the coatrack room with his necktie when I was eleven."

"I...I'm sorry."

"Don't be. He was a frightful bore and I don't miss him." He offered her his arm, and she took it. "Shall we go on our little adventure, then?"

The back of the house was wilder than the neatly kept lawn of the front and sides. Swampgrass grew thick along the path he delicately led her on, nothing but a small white road winding into the forest.

"That way leads to our family cemetery," he said, turning her away from a fork in the road. "We don't go there much. Reminds us of our mortality, and we Beauforts don't like to be reminded of that much."

This path was long-disused, nothing more than a deer trail snaking through the swamp. Lee had to lead her back onto it several times, kicking branches out of the way.

Even though it was light out, the woods were dark, trees clustering thickly overhead like crowds of cloaked strangers. The cries and echoes of swamp animals sounded the empty air, making her shiver.

Lee went ankle-deep in a wet patch and wrapped his strong arms around Rosannah to lift her over. As he did he paused with her in his arms around her, resting his chin on her collarbone and looking into her eyes with his teasing gray twinkle. He kissed her chin, just a brush of lips, and let her down on the other side.

The loss of his strong, hot body made her stumble a little bit, but she straightened up with as much dignity as she could gather and kept on walking. "You're quite the lady's man," she said, tossing her head.

"Is it a sin to love a woman and appreciate her beauty? I adore women and wish to give them all my love-- I am not a selfish man." He smiled that broad smile, the stray rays of sun catching a strand of his golden-brown hair.

"Your brother can't be too fond of that," she said carefully, lifting her dress to step over a soft patch.

"He isn't. But I do not sin in his house, so he allows it." He sighs wistfully. "I wish I could bring a woman home. To not have to hurry away from her house when the dawn breaks. Bobby will want me to marry some dowdy bible-thumper, but that's not the kind of woman I like--I like a woman with spirit, a woman with a body, a woman with lusty feelings like me."

His voice was so candid she looked at him in surprise. "Well, why don't you buy your own place?" She said. "You're a Beaufort, aren't you? You have money."

"Bobby owns the house, the lands, and all the money as the firstorn son. I have nothing."

"But surely you could get a job." Rosannah couldn't fathom not working. She had worked since she was thirteen years old. She had taken care of all the chores in her father's house, then in her married home. She worked watching children for extra money her husband wouldn't spend on drink. She washed, cooked, cleaned, and planted. She was a mountain woman and work was as natural to her as breathing.

Lee shrugged, as if tossing off a heavy coat. "I ain't the working type. Work bores me. Women don't."

The woods were getting darker, as was the sky. The flat, wet land was so different from the steep hills of the Ozarks. For a moment she allowed herself to miss the high, forboding, comforting mountains, caging and protecting her like a mother's womb. She missed the smell of moonshine and the taste of a freshwater well, the way the grass swayed over the hills. 

"We're here."

His voice startled her as they stumbled into a large clearing, wet, dark dirt sinking under her shoes.

The church had been white once. Age and moss had taken its toll on the pale panels. They sagged, burst outwards towards the shards of abandoned graves in the overgrown yard, thrusting up helplessly like gray thumbnails in a dense thicket of grass.

The small belltower loomed above, crumbling, and the steps to the church sagged under her feet. A crater in the roof was gaping open, fire having singed the edges and granting submission to its vulnerable insides.

The inside was swathed in dark, rotting boards. Pews sat leaning and rotting with the swam, beneath thin floorboards caving in. The altar was long disused and collapsing under the fractured roof, sending dim shards of light onto the ruined stage and altar.

Goosebumps erupted on her arms when she entered. The sky was waning now,  and the heavy, repressive atmosphere made her brain into sludge. She clutched Lee's arm. "I don't like this place."

Lee seemed as chipper as if he had spent his whole childhood there. "Gives you the creeps, doesn't it? It'll give you even more when I tell you the story behind it." He sat down on a pew, legs crossed and the toes of his boots pointing in the air.

"Clement Beaufort built this church so he didn't have to go all the way to Savannah to worship. He and his neighbors--what few there are now, he had more back then, congregated here every Sunday. Until one day it caught fire during a sermon.The whole congregation was in there. We ain't never knew what started it, but soon it spread through the whole church. Most were able to get out... some didn't."

He looked up at the towering roof, half-collapsed by the remnants of that fateful fire.

"Clement was never the same after that. He'd come here every week and stare at it down, swearing he could still see them in there, screaming, clawing to get out. If you look on the door you can see the grooves made by their fingernails, clawing to get out. Some of their nails are still embedded in the wood."

Rosannah cast a frightened glance over at the church doors, although she was too far away to see anything on the rotted surface.

The smell of mould and must and death made her head spin. There were bad energies here. Just like Bethlehem Hall. Unrestful energies.

"The regret haunted him for the rest of his life." His voice had become quiet, contemplative. "I understand him. Regret is in all of our lives. His. Mine. Yours."

Rosannah looked down at the cracked floorboards, nails coming loose to pry the tips upwards. Her mouth was dry as the faint impression of a baby girl flashed in her mind. Curly dark hair, like hers. Shining black eyes. Crying over her cradle.

A man doubling over, blood spreading in a slow stain over his shirt.

Dark, shadowy memories that she couldn't focus on and didn't want to.

"Yes," she said finally. "There is a lot in life that... I wish I could have done different.  Some things that haunt me at night."

A warm hand slid over her shoulder. Lee was staring at her, his gray eyes soft and gentle behind long, thick eyelashes. His muscular arm was around her shoulder, firm and gentle.

His pink lips parted, the scar twitching, and he said softly, "I... I regret things in my past, things... that I wish I could go back and fix. Things that I would give anything to go back and fix."

He looked away again, his body radiating heat in the cold church, and she shifted closer.

Lee looked back, and his eyes were pained. "Can I tell you a secret?"

Rosannah wet her lips. "You can tell me anything, Leland. And I'll never tell Bobby, or anyone. Cross my heart and hope to die." She quickly crossed her heart.

"This one girlfriend I had... not even girlfriend, someone I just slept with sometimes... we were fooling around, and we weren't careful, and she... she got pregnant." A muscle in his jaw tightened. "And I didn't want to marry her, so I told her--I arranged for a... procedure."

The unsaid word made shivers chill down her spine.  _Abortion._ The killing of an unborn baby, a precious little piece of life ripped from its mother's body and left to die.

"And after she had it, I... I knew it was the worst mistake I'd ever had. The regret that hit me, swamped me... I still feel it today. I lie awake in bed, thinking about the part of me I so callously killed. Thinking about how his eyes would be like mine, his smile, how he'd have my Beaufort eyes. He would be four years old today, walking and talking. But I killed him. Because I just didn't want to deal with the trouble, so I could keep hopping from woman to woman. I should have just married her. No matter how much Bobby would hate it, no matter if he would disown me. Even if it turned out we hated each other, even if we had to beg for scraps from the same people I used to mingle with. My life would be over. But I would still have my son with me."

His confession made tears run from her eyes. Rosannah couldn't stop thinking of her little girl, her smile, the way her little teeth poked through her gums.  _If she were alive, she would be walking too. Clutching fistfuls of my skirt in her hands as she took one stumbling step after another after me._

Rosannah took his hand. "Leland, hold onto that regret. It's the only thing you have left of your child."  _It's the only thing I have left of mine._ She leaned forward to cup his cheek softly. "He is with you always, in your heart. And he'll always be there. With you."  _With me._

Lee paused, then reached over to slowly wrap his arms around her. He smelled like sweat and leather, and she buried her face in his strong neck.

His hand crept underneath her skirt. "Let us find solace with each other. You understand me, Edith, you really do. And I understand you. Let us seek comfort in each other's arms, in our lostness, so that our regrets may, for some time, leave us," His voice was a breathy whisper. He tilted her chin and gave her a deep, passionate kiss, sealing his mouth over hers so completely she could barely breathe. His tongue entered her deeply, and he breathed in her scent as it found hers to entwine.

His hand was carressing her thigh, coming closer to the crease that separated it from her womanhood, and she pulled back in shock.

"Is this what this is?" Rosannah hissed, her mountain rage coming to the surface. She had sympathized with him, tears had come to her eyes because of him. Had it all been a farce?

Men's clumsy hands, pulling and jerking, the hands of her husband which  _took_ and  _took,_ were badly rising to her mind, and it made her cover her shoulders with her arms. "I bet that was all a lie. A sob story in order to get into my bed. Do you do this with every woman who catches your fancy?"

"I--" Lee stepped closer, but she slapped him hard. "Not a step closer. You vile Don Juan. You'll not lay a finger on me. I am a maid and your brother is my employer and there will be no untoward behavior from you to me." She turned away. "Please take me away from this place. It's getting late and I still have more work to do in the house."

Lee's head had been forced to the side, his golden-brown hair shielding his eyes so she could see nothing but the hard, pressed line of his mouth. He looked up at her, a red mark on his cheek, his expression of a sullen little boy whose mother told him he couldn't have a toy at the general store. His eyes flashed silver like a catfish, something dark in those depths before it was swept away.

They trekked home in silence. He tried to lift her over the stream, but she rebuffed him and got her shoes and the hem of her dress dirty. Rosannah was so furious she didn't even look at him, and it took all of her self-restraint to whirl around and give him another slap out of her mountain pride.

They finally reached Bethlehem Hall, the massive arched roof looming over the tops of the trees the first thing they spotted, and she unlocked the back porch and went straight back to work, face burning.

** 

That night she washed her face, slipped on a nightgown and was ready to slip into her bed for a night of much-needed rest when she heard a soft knock at the door. "Edith?"

"Lee?" She looked over cautiously.

"I just want to say--well, I'm here to apologize." His voice was muffled from behind the door, but it sounded apologetic.

Rosannah carefully unlocked the door and let him in. When he saw her, he smiled shyly. "My behavior towards you--I realize now how inappropriate it was. I want to apologize to you sincerely. If there's anything I can do--anything--"

"Oh, Lee." She was beginning to regret the way she treated him earlier. Maybe he had been honest with her, when he told her his regrets. And she had rebuffed him and treated him poorly, after such a heartfelt confession. He sounded so honest, so apologetic. "It's--it's all right. You just wanted company. I understand. I reacted badly." She took his hand and squeezed it gently, and his handsome face broke into a smile.

"How about we have a drink together and talk about ourselves and--if you would let me--we can become friends again."

"All right," she said, more for his sake. "Just a couple, maybe."

Robert was locked up in some study, either going over plans upon plans for his blasted fair or handling the many expenses that came with living in Bethlehem Hall. She was glad he wasn't there to stalk her around and insult her appearance. Lee led her to a small sitting room off the dining room. It was done in lacquered wood, with dark wallpaper and a vivid red-patterned rug underneath. Several antique wooden chairs surrounded a glass-top table, and a black leather sofa sat beneath a tall window with the red velvet curtains drawn.

In the corner was a tall glass cabinet, behind which was a selection of bottles filled with amber liquid, wine, decanters and thin-stemmed wine glasses. He opened the cabinet and when he turned around, in one hand he had a bottle of Jim Beam; in the other, two heavy-bottomed crystal glasses.

Rosannah was not a drinker--her father was a fiery Pentecostal preacher and he had frightened her out of such sins at a young age. But out of pity she took the glass.

"You're hanging on well," he said. "I'm impressed. Usually they quit in the first month but you're bulling along without any complaints."

"I complain, all right," she said. "In my mind, at least..."

"One of our maids had enough of him once and she slapped him, and she was out on the street with her suitcase the next day." Lee took a draught of his whiskey and laughed.

"I would never do that. I'm a good woman. I know to keep my head down. It's better that way, for us women." She had learned that over a bitter lifetime.

"What, like the way you slapped me?" He was studying her closely, smile on his face, but something about it discomforted her.

Her face grew hot. "I'm real sorry. That will never happen again. You just gave me a bit of a fright and I yowled at you like a cat." That damn mountain temper. Her father had always told her it would get her into trouble.

"You can make it all up to me with a kiss." Lee smiled impishly and traced his cupid's bow with a finger, wiping the sheen of whiskey off his lips.

Rosannah laughed and tried to play it off as a joke, taking a sip of the whiskey. It burned her throat as it went down, and she coughed.

"Not used to hard likker, are ya?" He laughed as she smothered her face in her sleeve, chest spasming with more coughs. "It's...a little much for me," she admitted. Her mood was light, lighter than it had been for a long time. Her face was flushed and her dark curls were in disarray.

"You'll get used to it. One thing that cheers a soul up is a little tipple."

"My father never let me drink," Rosannah admitted. "Said it was the devil's water, and if I ever drank any I might as well be drinking with Old Scratch."

"Well, you're in the company of Leland Jackson Beaufort, who might as well be the devil, so bottoms up!" He clinked their glasses and took another toss. He grinned his broad grin at her, a stay strand of hair caught across his forehead.

"If you're the devil I'd rather go to hell than heaven," she teased back, but felt instant regret. Her father was watching her from heaven, his dark, stern eyes on her. 

"You know, I didn't tell you all the stories about the church," Lee said as Rosannah took another drink and wrinkled her nose. 

"What could be worse than souls burning like hellfire in the house of the Lord?"

"Well, since the fire and destruction and death, the church was all but abandoned. No one wanted to rebuild it on account of restless spirits. So the very next week the Devil moved in and started havin' services."

"Really?"

He winked. "So the legend goes. If'n ya go to the church on witching hour, 3:00, the Devil's there preachin' to the damned souls of his congregation. And once you go in, you're never comin' out. So if you're ever lost in the lands of Bethlehem Hall, if you see orange light comin' through windows in the distance, and the sounds of singing, and deep shouts in the distance that make the hair on the back of your neck raise, run in the other direction. And run fast."

Rosannah's eyes were becoming unfocused. Lee's voice seemed to be coming from a long way away. She'd only had two drinks... was she drunk already? "That-that's scarrry," she said, slurring her words. A certain exhaustion had taken over her body and made it impossible to focus on anything.

Only one thing was in sharp relief--and it was Lee's face, smiling and pleasant and broad-jawed---but those eyes that seemed so kind earlier were cold, cold as ice. "Getting a little disoriented, aren't you, Edie darling?"

"I think I need to go to bed." She tried to stand up, gripping the side of the table for balance, but her head spun and she collapsed back in the chair.

"Oh, no. You're not going to bed yet. You little cocktease." 

Rosannah looked up at him in mixed shock and anger, stunned that the former gentleman had used such language. Had she misheard him? "What did you say?"

Lee was still smiling, but the smile wasn't kindly--it was feral, snakelike. He had her wrist in his grip, and it was hard as iron, his thumb pressing into her skin so hard it bruised.

"You know," he said. "When a chick I want rejects me, it rankles me. It rankles me deeply."

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rosannah is trapped, and she knows it--but she doesn't want to admit it, not even as her body screams at her.

His words echoed in her mind, bouncing off the sides of her disbelieving head.

Leland was standing up now, still and tall, so tall he towered over her ( _was he really that big_?), hands in the pockets of his black pants as he watched her stumble back

"Your mind is blurrin', ain't it? Your voice is slurrin'. Is your pussy starting to tingle yet? If not, by the end it will." His voice, sultry and yet dark with that harsh Southern twang.

Rosannah gripped the velour chair arm for support, fingers sinking into its softness as her drugged mind tried to make sense of this. She knew, with the cold certainty of a woman who this had happened to many, many times before, what would happen to her. But as her body began to chill, she tried to reason. "I'm your brother's maid. I teach Linney Belle. Why would you do something like this to me?"

"For that same reason," Lee said, voice like silk as he moved slowly towards her. He was slipping a suspender off his shoulder, pants sagging so that she could see the tops of his tanned thighs. "You work for my brother. I can do anything I want to you. You're just a maid. Isn't that what you said? You belong to us. You should cook, clean, wash, and submit. Isn't that what Bobby says a woman should do? If I want your legs spread and your pussy ready, that's just one of your chores."

Rosannah looked past him desperately to the door on his other side. Carved, wooden, looming in the distance like the entrance to heaven. She made a lunge to the side, but her balance was off-kilter and Lee easily swept her into his arms. He hugged her tight and breathed in the scent of her hair, his cock a hard, hot coal underneath his pants.

"You--you vile scoundrel. I trusted you. How many women have you betrayed this way?" She spat, gaze spinning and voice slurring. The anger was swamping her fear now, the desperate lashing out of a dying animal. "Let go of me!"

Lee slapped her. "Don't talk back. You are nothing." The visceral hatred in his voice made her spine turn to ice. "Turn around on the sofa and spread your legs."

She tried again fruitlessly to yank herself out of his arms, but he grabbed her hair and slammed her into the back of the sofa. It was soft, but her nose still bent in a sharp shock of pain.

He gripped the hem of her dress and pulled it over her waist with a flourish. Her panties were soon around her thighs, and she heard the matching clink of a belt.

Then he was in her, thick pulsing length inside her, the head of his cock firmly lodged against her cervix. He had entered her in one thrust, but the pain was not hard. He was slimmer, more considerate, sliding the silky edges of his thick, pulsing cock carefully along her tender insides. He swivelled his hips slowly, pulling out and then slowly sheathing himself in.

"How many cocks have you taken? Tell me. I know you're not a virgin," Lee purred in her ear. He punctuated his words with a lave of her ear, making her shudder.

"None," Rosannah wept. "I am--I am a virgin--" 

 _A_ _woman who was married since she was fifteen. A woman who has given birth_. 

"You should congratulate yourself, then," he said. "Because my cock is going to be the first to pump the first load of my cum in here, and even if you whine and wiggle, you're gonna get knocked up just like my girlfriend did. And this time?  _You're keeping the baby."_ He accentuated his words with a harsh thrust that made her hips ache and her breath short out.

"Please, god, no!" Her mind toppled into despair at the thought of her belly swelling again, becoming heavy with the seed he forced into her. She thought that Robert would fire her and then she would truly be alone, a pregnant, wanted, penniless fugitive.

Rosannah writhed, bit, tried to escape but he slammed her down again, one arm under her neck and the other wrapped around her waist, mercilessly pulling her back to meet his cock.

She let out a high-pitched wail, hoping Robert would hear her, Linney would hear her ( _oh god no, not Linney), someone_  would hear her. But the mansion was big and silent, and Lee was abusing her and her screams were reaching no one. She reached back to grab his clothes, trying to shove him off, hands fisting painfully as he increased his momentum, slamming her into the sofa with every thrust of his lusty body.

"You're the best bit of pussy that's come here for years. Not some old bag with a thick apron and a pursed mouth. You're a fucking knockout with a body that I wanted to ravage the moment you walked through the door. I love your slutty black eyes, your thick, shining dark curls. Your legs, the way your breasts strain against your dress. The coquettish way you look at me, tilting your hips like you expect me to run after you." He gripped her hair like he would a horse's bridle, forcing her into stillness. "I was so excited when Bobby hired you. Now I don't have to go out of my way to get laid--you're right here, beautiful, wet and available." 

His voice was burning and excited, like the cock that jabbed her insides, hot and swollen with the promise of release. She shifted her hips, aligned with his strong, tanned own ones. He was rammed against her, body fully molded against her, and she could feel every breath he heaved into her.

His grip was strong, and his words were so different from the gentle utterances he had wooed her with the moment she arrived. His voice was coarse and rough and vulgar like the Marshal's, like--

Like--

Like her husband's.

_Hard hands wound through her thick black hair, slamming her head into the plank walls of their cabin. His harsh, whiskey-thickened breath slurred in her ear as he yanked her hair painfully, hand going between her legs as his erection throbbed against her._

Rosannah knew better by then to resist.  _Just let it be over with,_ said that sad, small voice in the back of her head that had been there since her childhood, ever since her father first took a swing at her. Ever since Jack decided beatings weren't good enough and decided to force himself into her when she wasn't in the mood. 

As he hammered into her, the numbness started to creep over her body. Rosannah leaned forward on to the sofa and let her head slump. Lee stilled for a moment, his cock pulsing inside her.

"What are you doing? Don't lay there like a corpse. Come on, squeal a little for me, moan around my cock. Put your hips into it!" His voice was becoming rapidy impatient. His body was hot and heavy against hers as he pulled her dress up to slide his hands around her breasts. He kissed her ear as he cupped them in his hands, the pad of his thumb rubbing over the sensitive pink tips. She gave a half-hearted thrust backwards-- _please just get this over with-_ -and the tip of his cock swelled. He let out a breathy groan and covered her bare shoulders with kisses.

Lee pressed hard into her, not pulling out but driving himself up to the hilt until their hips were one. Her mind was fading quick from whatever had been in the liquor, and even if she wanted to fight back she couldn't have. He flipped her around until she was on her back on the sofa, and the softness of the velvet felt good against her back. Her dress was hiked up to her waist and her toes pointed in the air.

Lee hovered over her, breaths heaving his muscled chest and his broad jaw trembling and shoulders taut. He was so handsome, she thought deliriously. His full pink lips were parted and trembling, and his gossamer, golden-brown hair hung down past his chin, damp with sweat. His eyes, shadowed by long lashes, were burning with lust. He was a handsome, sensual man, who could have any woman in Savannah he wanted.

As unlucky as she was, he chose her.

A stream of precum was wetting her insides, and she knew she would get the grand finale soon, and with it, a host of other problems. Rosannah closed her eyes as he kissed her hard, sucking on her lips like they were his mother's nipple. His tongue played across her swollen lower lip as one of his hands went to cup her full breast.

There was something very childish about him, she thought, like a spoiled little boy who used to getting his way, who threw a tantrum when he saw a toy he couldn't have, who wanted his toy to work just the way  _he_  wanted to and that way only. She had seen his sullen face at the abandoned church and it was similiar to the way the boys she babysat pouted when she denied them anything--resentful and waiting to get her back.

His finger wandered between the spread pink cleft of her womanhood, and he dug it to press on the bundle of nerves that made her back arch. She instinctively lifted her legs to grip his strong, tan waist for support. His gray eyes were lidded, and their beauty was obscured by fiery, disgusting lust. As a young girl she would have looked after him shyly and fantasized in her head as she lay in her bed. Now, she wished he was burning in hellfire along with her husband.

After all, he was a man, and men all had the devil in them. Every one of them.

His hips were beginning to shudder, and suddenly she felt his cock erupt in a hot wave of cum, flooding her insides where her traitorous womb would suck it all up.

"Feel that? How does it feel to know you lost your virginity to me? Take every drop of my seed. You'll be growing a little bastard Beaufort in your belly before too long."

His voice came from far away. His heavy, lusty thrusts were fading into her subconscious. Thankfully, Rosannah felt herself start to fall into a deep, dark hole. Her limp body would have to take the brunt of it, but her mind would be far, far away.

As her mind spiralled into nothingness, she saw the silhouette of Lee's heaving figure, and beside him, the impression of a shadow, dark on the golden wallpaper.

Still, but watching her.

***

Rosannah awoke with her head buzzing dully. A ray of sunlight fell on a glossy lock of coal-black hair as she shifted, turning her head away from the light.

Her body was tilted to the side, caked vomit covering the side of her face. Leland had been thoughtful enough to drape a quilt over her, and she pushed it off as she sat up.

Rosannah was an early riser and she thanked God for that. If Robert found her like this, reeking of booze and vomit, she shuddered to think of what his reaction would be. She got up, nearly toppled, and then grabbed a table for balance. A fresh trickle of cum made its way down her sticky thighs, making her shudder in revulsion.

She went into the first bathroom she found and freshened up. The pipes groaned in the walls as she switched on the ornate faucet, and the shock of water on her face was cold. Rosannah cleaned her face, washed her mouth and dripped a rag between her thighs. 

Rosannah went downstairs. The massive staircase was covered in crushed red velvet that softened her footsteps, but they still creaked alarmingly, the noise echoing through the large, empty house. She had something she needed to do.

Rosannah opened the door quietly. Linney was curled up in bed, ribbons still in her messy hair. She clutched her teddy bear in one arm. The china ballerinas struck poses, watching silently over their charge as Rosannah approached her.

She smoothed her hand over Linney's face, brushing strands of silvery gold hair away from her eyes.

"Linney?" She whispered.

Linney Belle blinked and looked up at her. She stretched under the covers and yawned. "Do I have to get up?"

"No. You can sleep. I just want to ask you something."

"Uh huh?" She looked up with her big green eyes.

"Your uncle Lee... has he ever touched you?"

Linney blinked in confusion. "We hug and kiss a lot."

"No. I mean in a way that.. hurts. Or makes you feel uncomfortable." Arnola Newell would come crying to Rosannah sometimes, saying her father had raped her. Rosannah could do nothing but give her a bath and fresh clothes and eventually, send her on her way.

"Umm, I don't think so."

"He doesn't come into your room at night, does he? Does he lie down beside you?"

"No, he never comes into my room. I put myself to bed before you started to do it."

Rosannah's eyes were watering, not of her own volition. "Good."

If he had, she would have taken the rifle off the mantle and murdered him. She was done with men. Herself was one thing. Linney Belle was another.

Rosannah's mind was a swamp of slowly bubbling misery, memories from last night rising to the surface and being forced down. But they were coming up again, dark and black and painful, and the phantom pain between her legs began to bloom.

"Edie? Are you crying?"

She wanted to bad to tell her  _my name is Rosannah_. She wanted to bear her heart out, even to an innocent little girl. To tell about her father's blows, and her husband's drunken advances. The feel of a dead baby's skin again her breast.

But she didn't. She wasn't Rosannah Semple. Or Rosannah Ellen Walker. Or Rosie who lived in the hollow. She was Edith McCurdy who asked no questions and did her duty quietly. She was Edith McCurdy, and she worked for the Beaufort family, and she  _obeyed_ , like she had for her entire life.

Linney sat up and hesitantly held her arms around her. They were small and warm and as thin as twigs, but they gave her shreds of comfort. She buried her face in her lace nightgown and allowed herself a sob.

"No, don't cry!" Linney was confused, unaware as a child who had never been comforted would be. She was starting to shake. "Why are you crying?"

Rosannah didn't speak, but held the child close to her body, so close she felt the beat of her heart. Her hair was soft against her collarbone. She never wanted to let go.

Eventually Rosannah put Linney back to bed and stroked her hair until she fell asleep. Then she went out to the empty hall, in the empty house. The darkness yawned before her, stray strands of light dimly penetrating the vast hall between the curtains in thin streaks.

Rosannah stood there and felt the agony between her legs and in her head, and heard her breathing in the oppressive silence.

Then she went to work.

***

Rosannah was making breakfast when Lee came into the kitchen. He was casual, with messy hair and loose clothing, and he immediately sidled over to her. "Do you need a hand?" He rumbled in her ear, one hand cupping her rear as she mixed batter together. He was treating her like a bride the day after a wedding, with his lazy carresses and soft voice.

His heavy, gray lidded eyes spoke of nothing but satisfaction as he watched her furiously mix and pour the batter into the griddle. She yanked away from him and went to the refrigerator, looking stiffly but not bending over. 

"Breakfast will be ready shortly." She put every ounce of hostility into her tone, and when she turned around, she saw that he had frozen up.

He was still looking at her in that cavalier way with his sly smile, but his eyes were frigid and pale. Like he was staring at a piece of roadkill, at a broken toy.

He smiled and turned away. "I'll see you at the breakfast table, Edie." His voice was just as playful as it had always been.

***

Robert had laid into her hard that morning, telling her that the coatroom wasn't up to snuff and that the upstairs sitting room looked awful. He had relatives coming  _this_ _week_  and he couldn't believe what a lazy layabout she was, and it had to be her sinful gender who had fallen by the wayside and needed to learn how to serve men again. She listened to him go on and on and said nothing and bowed her head when he was done and went back to work.

Rosannah spent the morning cleaning the mansion. She stuck to the bigger rooms--the smaller ones intimidated and terrified her, little offshoots filled with dark energy and abandoned furniture that terrified the woman who was used to the vast, sweeping Ozarks.

Linney would need tutoring in math this afternoon, not her strong point. Rosannah took up lunch to that decrepit corpse hidden away upstairs and had to duck when he threw the soup bowl at her. By this time she was exhausted and ready to cry, and when the downstairs doorbell rang, she did shed a few tears, but went down to answer it and prepare for the inevitable carnival of the Beaufort relatives arriving.

She unlatched and pulled open the heavy door.

In the sunlight a girl stood there, wearing a white ruffled lace dress that looked about a century out of date. The Beaufort extended family had their share of quirky people, hadn't they? She had that signature Beaufort hair, silky, silver and loose down to her purple collar.

"Are you here one of the relatives here to see Robert?" Rosannah asked kindly.

The girl said nothing, just stared. She was very still, pallid as alabaster in the bright sunlight. Something black ran across her cheek. She realized it was a fly.

Something dark was starting to creep up her spine. The sun was bright and warm on the wraparound porch, but she felt cold.

Rosannah tried again. "Are you a Beaufort?"

The girl said nothing. Just looked at her with pale, unblinking eyes.

As she stared at her, Rosannah realized something. What she had thought was a purple collar to her lace dress was not. It was purple, broken blood vessels, stretching around her neck like a noose of blackened skin.

"I'm going to get you help," Rosannah said,  blabbering, stepping, tripping backwards, not even bothering to close the door as she fled back into the darkness of the house. She took the faster way--the servant's stairs in the kitchen--to reach Robert's room as soon as possible.

Robert was on the phone, talking in a softer voice than he usually had, and he looked up when she burst in. "What the devil is the matter, McCurdy?"

"There's a--a girl on the porch," she blathered, "She's hurt, she's bruised, she needs help."

"I'll talk to you later, Aunt Sissy," he said into the phone and followed her downstairs. She clutched his arm as she led him down, taking primitive comfort in his presence.

They emerged onto the porch. It was completely empty.

Rosannah ran down the porch to look around the side of the house. "I--she was right here! I swear--" she looked at Robert, whose face was tense. "Please believe me! I didn't lie! She was--she was blonde like you, she was wearing a lace dress, and she had bruises--all across her neck!" She demonstrated by wrapping her hand around her throat.

Robert's face changed at her last words, and he looked out over the clean-cut lawn, and the swampy acres encroaching slowly on the green grass. There was something still in his eyes, instead of the anger she had expected. Something faraway in his eyes, something dark, something... frightened?

"She must have left for somewhere else," he said shortly. "Well, it's no business of ours, anyway."

Rosannah looked out desperately around the porch, with its peeling wallpaper and porch swings and bare, unoccupied white latticed chairs and tables.  _She was here. I know it. I know she was here._

She jumped as the Robert slamming the door echoed behind her, and then she was all alone on the porch.

***

The sun set on a day that Rosannah wished desperately to end. All she wanted to do was sleep, and forget. Forget about Lee. Forget about Robert. Forget about the next day, a day of working just as hard as she had to today. 

But before she could, she had to attend to something.

As the sun waned in the darkening sky, she went into the dense swamp, filled with the cries of night animals, and by candlelight she gathered mounds of damp, spongy, toad eggs.

She took her prize back to the house, dress hiked up and ankles bare and smeared. Bethlehem Hall was grand in the darkening evening, nightfall hiding its multitude of sins. The cracks and patches of rot and creeping ivy were vanished in the dim light, and all she saw were the pale domes rising into the sky like pillars of heaven.

In the seclusion of her room, Rosannah dumped the eggs into a mortar bowl. She took a sewing needle from the vanity and pricked her finger, the blood running down her hand in the dim orange cast of the candle.

Rosannah squeezed her blood into the bowl of toad eggs, the jelly speckling with red. Then she took the pestle and mashed it until the damp pearls became a thick paste.

The black-haired woman took it to the bathroom and undressed. There were no mirrors in the bathroom-- there were no mirrors anywhere in the house--but she could see the dark bruises on her thighs just by looking down.

She got into the bathtub and took a handful of the blood and toad egg paste, and spread it over her belly. The shock of cold on her skin sunk into her skin, through to the womb.

After her baby had died, she used this to keep her husband from fathering any more children on her. She had stayed childless up until she killed him.

Rosannah tilted her head back and stared blankly at the white ceiling. The mass of eggs and blood dripped down the sides of her belly to pool underneath her. She knew it was working its magic, ridding herself of that man's evil seed.

Because one thing was for sure: she may have been their maid, but she was not going to be enslaved to them in that way. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rosannah has a lot more on her plate now than she realizes...


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rosannah deals with the extended Beaufort family, and her curiosity about the mysterious goings-on of Bethlehem Hall grows.

 

"EDITH!"

The slender whiptail of the snake writhed through the rows of cabbage, spurred by Linney's cries of terror. 

"Get away! It'll bite you!"

Rosannah bent down and seized the serpent by its tail. "Red touch black, friend of Jack. Red touch yellow, kill a fellow." She indicated its stripes. "It's a Scarlet Snake, not a coral. He'll do you no harm."

The serpent writhed in the air, mouth gaping and pink. The scales wriggled under her grip.

"Watch out for coral snakes, water moccasins, copperheads, and rattlesnakes," Rosannah told her charge sternly. "Especially rattlesnakes. If you hear a rattle, you freeze and call for me, alright?"

A harsh rattle echoed deep in her brain, a dark memory of her father lifting a serpent above the congregation, rapturous face uplifted to the heavens and voice booming as the snake lashed its tail and the clack-clack of its rattle echoed off the thin plywood walls. Then she thought of her father on his deathbed, face purple and swollen until his eyes were slits and body trembling and twitching as venom took its toll on his healthy body. She banished those memories.

Linney Belle was still hiding on the other side of the garden, and Rosannah threw the snake over the fence, where he rapidly slithered into the tall grass. "He won't be comin' back no more. Come on, we still have to pick the beetles off the cabbages."

The garden was looking nice. Peas, cucumbers, cabbages were growing in neat rows. Harsh sunlight and heavy rainfall made them bloom like the wildflowers that surrounded their yard. Rosannah was looking forward to the pickling and canning. She might even get Robert to drop his uptight attitude and roll up his sleeves to do some work along with her.

The distant rumbling of a car echoed in the distance, and all of a sudden Linney Belle lost her fearful look and brightened up. "The cousins are here!"

She dashed out of the garden, followed by Rosannah, lifting her skirts to run. When they got to the front of the porch, Robert was standing with his hands in his pockets, a wan smile gracing his face as a family got out of a car, the back loaded up with suitcases.

One look and Rosannah could tell the Beaufort blood ran strong. The mother had silvery-blonde hair piled in a bun on her head, wearing denim shorts and a blouse that showed off her long, slender legs and pale arms. Her face was sharply beautiful, but there was a vain curl to her lips and her eyes were cold, even in the bright sunlight. 

"Sipsy, take the baby inside, he's thirsty," the woman said sharply to a stout girl in a maid's apron. "Oh, Bobby, you won't believe what an awful trip we've had."

"Tell me all about it once we've had some iced tea, cousin Letty." Robert took her arm in a gentlemanly manner.

Letty craned her neck up to kiss her cousin, but for too long, and her eyes lingered unpleasantly on Rosannah. "You, unload the car," she ordered Rosannah brusquely as the group of relatives headed up the steps.

"Uncle Lee!" Shouted a little blonde girl, and ran into Leland's arms. He playfully lifted her up in the air. "Suellen Kearny, you must have grown six inches since I last saw you! I can barely lift you up!"

Despite herself, Rosannah kept an eye on him, the way he touched and hugged her. She couldn't help herself. Her mistrust of Lee was sharp and wary, as was her protectiveness of children.

She began to drag out the suitcases, sweat rolling down her forehead in the harsh sunlight.

As the family moved inside, she heard bootsteps break the grass behind her.

"Need some help?" Purred a very unpleasant voice, and Rosannah yanked a carpet bag out with more force than she needed to. "No. Thank you."

"Nonsense. What kind of man sits back while a woman does the work?" Lee walked over to the car to start unloading the luggage, the powerful muscles in his arms flexing. "Besides, you'll need someone to show you where to put them. Letty's family only stay in the East Wing guest bedrooms."

Rosannah ignored him, but his gaze on her made the back of her neck prickle. 

"I suppose you'll want to know a bit about our cousins, since they'll be living with us for a little while."

"I don't, but I suppose you'll tell me anyway."

"I love to talk, and you're just the most fantastic listener." He bent forward to put his mouth next to her ear, and she shivered.

"Letitia is a cousin from the Atlanta branch. She's a Chapman, but she married a Texan, Amos Kearny, a generation removed from poor white trash who struck it rich in the oil fields. He's the brash one who wears a cowboy hat and has awful table manners."

Lee leaned closer. "She always wanted to marry Bobby, but she followed her brain instead of her pussy and got herself a richer husband instead. You're young and beautiful, so you're not going to have a very pleasant time around her."

She glared. "We women can get along without men, you know."

"Can you?" He twirled a lock of her black hair around his fingertip. "From what I've seen, you seem to be quite jealous creatures."

Rosannah slammed the car door shut and turned to glare at him. "Leland. I will tell you one thing, and you'd better remember it. If you touch any of the children in this family, I will make you regret it." She glared into his eyes with her last words, meaning every single one of them.

His eyes were glass, over a pleasantly smiling face. "You've got a spine. It's hidden, but it's hard and it's there. But I'm going to snap it like a twig." His hand gripped her wrist, hard enough to creak her bones, but then relaxing.

Lee tilted his head at her playfully, golden-brown hair falling over his brow. "Why would I use one of them when you're right here? And why a child, of all things?"

Then he was kissing her, pushing her hard against the sedan, his cock insistent and pressing her thigh even through her layers of aprons. "If you keep fucking me, Edith, you'll have nothing to worry about. Just lift lift your skirts and spread your legs when I want to."

He tensed his waist against hers. "I'll get a baby on you before too long. And then you really won't be able to refuse me." He kissed her hard, his hot lips and warm face pressed against hers.

When he let her go, she slumped to the ground. He took two suitcases under his arms and winked at her. "Getting awfully hot out, ain't it? Might be better to have a cold drink inside."

***

Rosannah did not know why Leland seemed so insistent for a child. He interacted well with the little ones--better than their parents, in any case--but seemed remarkably blasè whenever one of them cried and hurt themselves. That duty fell to her and Sipsy to comfort them.

Rosannah did, however, notice how closely Leland watched her while she mothered them. Chin in his hand and drink in his another, he watched her like a greedy hawk as she hefted a child in her arms. "Sssh, darling, no crying, okay?" Rosannah whispered to the child, trying to ignore him.

Letitia's baby was a healthy toddler named Boyd with his father's hair and brash manner. He wriggled in her arms as Rosannah tried to catch Linney. "Linney Belle!" 

Linney was flushed and more animated than Rosannah had ever seen. She laughed uproariously, chasing her cousin around the living room. It made Rosannah smile. Linney was always such a terse child, it was nice to see her having fun.

"Oh, Bobby darling. It's such an awful trip from Houston to Savannah. The traffic was frightful... and the weather? The less said the better. It was nearly ninety degrees! And Boyd wouldn't stop crying..."

The overdramatic fit Letitia was in was so similiar to the ones Robert had, that Rosannah would dare anyone to guess they weren't related. 

"Letty. I keep telling you to take a train. I know a car ride is cheaper, but it's so much easier..."

"Amos wanted to see the sights," she groused, glaring at her husband. "And get out of the car every few miles to take pictures."

Boyd was bright and active, face flushed as he toddled after his cousin. Rosannah leaned against the doorway, smile on her face while he laughed and brawled with his cousin, but she kept her ears personally pricked. If they were from Texas she needed to keep an eye on them. She could easily be recognized.

"This Savannah fair, Bobby, you have several horses running the race, don't you? ... what is the new one you bought?"

"Gold Rush? He's going to be a star, I am perfectly confident. For the money I paid--he had better."

"It had better do a better job than the last," cracked Letty's husband Amos. "How much money did you lose on The Egyptian?"

By the the thinning of Robert's lips, she could guess The Egyptian was in a glue factory somewhere.

Linney jumped over a sofa and upset  Letitia's drink, laughing brightly as her cousin Suellen tried to follow her. Rosannah had never seen her this irregardless, never seen her so bright-eyed and happy.

"You're still raising that child?" Said Letitia distastefully, one slender leg crossed over the other. She covered her glass, a faint expression of disgust on her face. "After what her  _mother_  did?"

How could they speak like that when Linney was right there? The girl did not falter, and Rosannah could only pray she hadn't heard.

"Well, Linney is doing well in tutoring," said Robert, lighting a cigar that made her eyes sting. "I won't let her into those unholy schools--she gets bible study from me, of course, and everything else is learned from Edith."

"Your newest maid? How is she working out?" Letitia spoke as if Rosannah was not right there. She rested her hand lightly on Robert's knee.

"She's one hell of a looker, unlike your other ones!" Her husband cracked up, lighting up his own cigar to flood the air with bitter smoke.

"She knows how to behave as a woman." Robert's voice was sharp, and as Rosannah looked up, he was shifting away from his cousin, eying her with something resembling disapproval. "She knows how to stay modest, and she never talks back." He put emphasis on that word.

***

Two other relatives arrived later--puckered, unmarried aunts, who complained endlessly about their lodging. Both of them had that entitled aristocratic attitude that was so evident in Robert and Letitia. Between them and Ezra, she was at the end of her rope, and almost made her wish she were really hanging at the end of a rope. 

Making dinner was the worst. Sipsy was scatterbrained, chattering constantly and dropping glasses. She was short and stout, with a tooth missing and a ruffled white apron. She had latched onto Rosannah as a fellow maid immediately, and talked endlessly in a stream of words that jumped subjects like a grasshopper.

"My grandmama always said she used a dash of buttermilk in everything she made, said it was her secret recipe! E'eryone in town always invited her to potlucks so they could taste her food."

"Well, I don't think we need to add buttermilk to beef stew," Rosannah said, distracted as she tried to stir the stew and simultaneously keep an eye on Boyd, Linney and Suellen.

"Oh, Leland is so handsome... did you see the way he winked at me when I came in? He carried all the luggage in too, what a gentleman!"

"Leland is not a good man," Rosannah said sharply. "You'd be good to stay away from him."

"He can't be that bad! Nobody can be worse than Mr. Beaufort, he's such a killjoy and he's so demanding."

Rosannah burned herself on the pot, and cursed. She was bustling, distracted making dinner for a crowd while simultaneously watching the squalling children as they flitted through room to room and kept half an ear on Sipsy's inane chatter.

"Sipsy, please can you go set the table?" Rosannah asked, then turned to Linney and Suellen.

"Go sit at the table," she told them sternly. "Dinner will be ready soon. Go on, go! Shoo!"

She pushed the laughing little girls into the dining room after Sipsy and shook her head as she returned to her cooking. The beef bubbled and popped, red meat turning brown.

Rosannah finally had some peace. She dried a wooden spoon on her dress and set it down with a clunk. The noise echoing through the room made her realize how quiet it was. How very quiet it was without Linney's laughter or Sipsy's chatter.

How very quiet indeed.

She kept stirring, trying to keep her mind on the stew, until a creak hit her ears with the momentum of a bomb.

Little Boyd was standing in the shadow of the open cellar doorway, his round pale face in shadow and big eyes watching something that should not be seen. His jaw was slack as he looked into the darkness.

Rosannah abandoned her saucepans, running to sweep him into her arms.  "Sweetheart, please don't open that door..."

And she caught sight of the darkness, and her voice died in her throat.

The faint light of the kitchen shone dimly down wooden steps leading down a staircase. The aged planks showed old and shallow in the flickering light, the last few disappearing into darkness.

Her backbone froze, and a chill fell across her as she clutched the child protectively. Some parts of her brain began to stop cranking, like clockwork.

The pitch-black bottom of the stairs loomed, swathed by pitch darkness, and she felt a numbness sweep over her as she stared down, wondering distantly  _what's down there? What doesn't Robert want me to see?_ It was calling to her, beckoning her with a promise looming just beyond the last step, like something was watching her back, luring her into its lair.

Her leg inched forward.

Boyd wriggled.

She snapped into the real world. The beef stew was boiling over. She turned away from the doorway and took the beef off the heat, then shooed Boyd into the dining room. Sipsy was talking shyly with Leland, eyes big and glistening, and he smiled and chatted easily back, one arm draped around the back of her chair.

"Dinner is five minutes late," said one of the unmarried aunts to Rosannah sharply. She tapped her long claw on the tablecloth. Rosannah apologized and went back into the kitchen--but before she did anything else, she shut and locked the door to the cellar--trying not to look down the deep, dark hole--and piled crates in front of it. She stayed where she was, in front of the heavy door, breathing heavily and staring at it, her hands clenched and her ears ringing dully.

***

Rosannah floated in the bath.

The massive, clawfooted behemoth of a tub squatted sullenly in the middle of the vast, white bathroom. She watched the blank ceiling, her breath spiraling through the steam that rose from the tub.

Her salary was neatly folded and hidden under the bed, and she had worked for every dime of it. Her joints ached and it hurt to flex her fingers. She was looking forward to falling asleep that night. She wished she could brush her hair or put a bit of makeup on tomorrow, but since all the mirrors had planks nailed over them, that was somewhat difficult.

The only sounds in the large bathroom were her slow breaths and the slosh of water against the sides of the tub. She could hear a voice distantly--a woman's voice, perhaps Letty, or one of the aunt's... it sounded rather close, as if it were outside her bedroom's door.

It rose and fell, and she realized belatedly that it was the sound of sobbing. She sat up in her bath, ears pricked.

The moans and cries had a desperate quality to them, swelling like a storm. They were raw and hoarse, as if the woman had been crying a long time. Was it... was it Linney? Was she in trouble?

It was coming closer. Almost close enough to be in her bedroom. 

Concerned, Rosannah leaped up and yanked the door open, heart thudding, and came face to face with Robert Beaufort.

They stared at each other in a moment of shock that stretched for far too long. Water dripped from the ends of Rosannah's hair as she stared, naked and bare-breasted, at Robert, who was standing ramrod still, holding a stack of towels.

A flush started at the base of his neck and swathed his face with rosè. His lips were almost as pale as his hair. His eyes flicked briefly to her naked body, then returned to her face with a jarring suddenness.

"Take these towels to the bathroom in the East Wing," he muttered, then turned stiff-backed, and walked out of the room, slamming the door after him.

Rosannah turned and slid down the wall, her heart thumping. A flush of her own had started on her breasts and made its way to her face. She buried her face in her hands, trembling in embarrassment. 

Was it not enough to be humiliated by Lee? This was the cherry on top of the sundae. She wished she were dead in that moment.

Belatedly, she noticed that the crying had stopped.

***

The room was dark, and Rosannah curled up under her quilt, sleeping fitfully. She jerked out of her doze as she heard the door click, and then creak open.

She turned around in bed. "Wh-who is there?" Her voice trembled with fear, acutely aware of the darkness surrounding her. Rosannah had locked the door. She had  _locked_  the door, and securely.

The lascivious voice made her spine turn to ice. "Just me, sweetie doll."

In the darkness, she felt a heavier body move next to her on the bed.

Her whole body was stiff as he slowly shifted closer.

"How did you get in?" She whispered under her breath.

"I'm a Beaufort. I have the master keys to every room." Lee's breath washed over her nape, and he pulled her nightgown up over her waist. "Did you think you could get away from me this easily? I have a cock that needs to be satisfied, and a locked door isn't going it keep me from you."

Lee began to run his hands over her body, palming her breasts and skimming her midriff and dipping between her legs. "I was looking forward to this all day." He kissed her ear, and she shuddered at the sensation of his cold lips on her skin.

"Did you see how ugly that other maid is?" Lee laughed derogatorily. "She's mooning over me like I'm Elvis, but doesn't know I wouldn't give her the time of day."

Rosannah shifted and pushed his hands away. "You shouldn't lead her on like that. It's cruel."

"I'll make her feel like I'm interested in her and string her along until she's eating out of my hand. Maybe she can do me a few favors."

"You're disgusting," she said, and didn't bother hiding the raw contempt in her tone.

Lee giggled. "That's what people are for. There are only two types of people in this world: people who I can use, and people who I can't. And I have no use for people who I can't use." He pinched her nipple and used his other hand to brush a coal-black curl behind her ear.

"You should be glad I can use you, Sweet Edie, otherwise you would have been out of here on your ass before you could spit in my face."

Rosannah twisted her head around so that she met his gaze with her own livid one, pouring every modicum of hatred she had into him.

The moonlight was bright enough, filtering through the window so that she could see the pinpricks of his pupils set in the cold wasteland of his eyes. His soft hair tickled her bare shoulder as he rested his head against her.

"It's a bit refreshing, honestly," he said. "Not having to hide who I really am. Whenever you look at me with that black hate in your eyes, it makes me want to push you over a sofa and fuck you. I didn't know forcing a woman could be this fun until now. You're going to provide me with a lot of amusement from now on."

Her fists clenched, arms pinned to her body under the grip of his muscular arms. He tickled the tip of her cleft with a finger, rubbing in slow circles around her clit. "Do you like that, Edith? Come on, make a little moan for me. I'm a gentleman, it would be rude if I were the only one to fulfill my pleasure."

His blunt fingernail dug into the small pink nub, making her body clench and spasm all at the same time. As he drew his finger in lazy circles, she felt herself start to wetten, preparing her against her will for the man who would violate her.

Rosannah arched her head as he hit a sweet spot, and he gave her long, open-mouthed kisses on her neck. Unwilling warmth washed over her body. God, Jack never did her like this. But she almost wished it was him. He made no excuses for what he did. He forced himself inside her, spent, and was done with it. This was something different. This...

She almost didn't notice when he slid his pants down below his knees. But when a familiar hardness began to slide against her wet, swollen pussy lips she jerked back into reality.

She entertained for a moment running, like a scared rabbit, but knew there was no use. He would use her when he wanted to. Rosannah closed her eyes tight as he began to edge into, one inch at a time forcing its way into her welcoming, wet body.

There was a sudden, harsh  _bang_  above, and her heart leapt to her throat.  _Oh, no!_

The steady pummels surrounded her like an earthquake, frantic and heavy, making the room shake and rain specks of wallpaper down on them.

"Oh, Leland," she whimpered. She clutched his warm arms, wrapped around her body. "What's going on? What... what is that?"

"Ssh. It's nothing," he whispered in her ear as the steady, loud bangs increased in momentum, until they almost drowned out his voice. "Ignore it. Ignore it. Focus on my cock."

Lee's member was swollen and erect, like a reaching branch stuck inside her body as he began to move back and forth. Every time his hips slammed against hers she felt hot, harsh pleasure force its way from her womb to the tips of her nipples and toes. Lee's hand clenched over her belly, keeping her in place as he started to thrust faster, working to the momentum of the bangs.

"What i-i-is it?" She wailed as the loud slams echoed just above her head. "I'm so... I'm so scared, please, please, tell me what's going on!"

 

 

 

"Ssssh. Edie, my sweet rose.  _My sweet Missouri Rose."_

Rosannah started, before realizing the last words had been in her head. Her husband had used to call her that, whenever he cupped her cheek, smiled, made love to her.

"I'll be here with you all night, and I'll protect you," Leland whispered as the blows rained down. She could feel his smile against her skin. "I promise. My darling little slut."  _My Sweet Missouri Rose._

He shifted around, flipping her until her kneecaps were digging into the mattress, and he held her hips like a bitch being mounted.

He molded his body to hers, every inch of his torso pressed against her back as he pressed his forehead to her shoulder, hips shivering mercilessly against her as pleasure and fear overtook her brain.

"Just think of how cute our babies will be," he breathed hotly in her ear. "You're such a gorgeous woman. You know how to take orders. And you raise children well. You'll have a little litter of Beauforts and you'll have to beg me to support them. You will serve us for the rest of our lives and raise my children while you do so."

Rosannah's eyes rolled in her head, bright spots blooming underneath her eyelids as the thick cock in her reached as deep as it had ever been, nestling against the door to her womb. The head pulsed, preparing to release its heavy load into her fertile womb.

The ceiling shook and trembled with the momentum of an earthquake. His hot hands palmed her breasts, fingernails digging deep as his cock swelled, the tip leaking precum that began to filter through her cervix. 

"When you get your belly, everyone will gossip," he whispered huskily as the first spurt of cum started to leak into her body. "They won't know if it's mine or Bobby's. You won't be able to get a job anywhere around here. You'll just be a whore, pregnant out of wedlock. You'll do anything I want to you and you won't be able to tell anyone without them calling you a slut and  liar."

His hips stilled as the warmth of his semen began to surge harder into her, the heat making dizziness hit her skull.

"You're the best toy I've ever had, Edith. You're so fun, you're so real," said adoringly, voice trembling.  _"Oh... yes!"_

Lee's voice cracked at the last words. Rosannah's throat silently screamed for release. His cock burst, flooding her with his rich seed. Her back arched, tears staining her face as her buttocks instinctively ground back into him. Her legs trembled with the shaky climax that hit her, and he spent himself quickly his heavy, muscular body humping her rapidly.

Her elbows gave out and she pressed her face into the pillow, tears soaking into the cotton. Lee rolled over to lie beside her, his body stilling with heavy breaths. 

Leland's long eyelashes fluttered, staring serenely at the ceiling as the bangs echoed hard and steadying. Like they didn't even exist to him. Like it was nothing more than the distant peck of a woodpecker.

Rosannah stayed where she was, collapsed on her belly; fury, shame and misery battling themselves out in her mind.

With every single  _bang_  above her she wanted to cry, and a furious thought arose within her as some part of her snapped.

_I will find out what's going on in this god damned place,_ she thought viciously. I  _will unravel every secret of this aristocratic hellhole. And no measure of rapist libertines, snooty women, or zealot masters of the house will prevent me from doing it. Everything they try and hide from me, I will... I will discover, everything there is to discover._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ain't much to say but I hope you like it!


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An outing to the fair unearths questions.

Rosannah tied Boyd's little bowtie, casting an exasperated glare at Sipsy, who was dawdling and talking to Leland.

"Sipsy, get Suellen. Everyone else is dressed."

The extended Beaufort family were going out--Robert wanted to survey the fairgrounds and they had made an event of it in classic Southern-family fashion.

Letitia swanned into the room, dressed in a lace dress similar to the one Rosannah had been forced to wear the first time she had attended Savannah church. It fit her much more elegantly, outlining her slim waist and the wide-brimmed hat set neatly on top of her silver locks. "His bow tie goes OVER the collar. Can't you do ANYTHING?" she snapped at Rosannah.

""Is everyone ready? We have to be there by twelve! Do you--" Robert poked his head through the door, saw Rosannah, and shut up. He promptly yanked his head back and slammed the door behind him.

Robert had been ignoring--no, more like outright avoiding her ever since that night. If they were alone in a room he would immediately leave. Rosannah wouldn't say so, but it relieved her. Having to deal with Robert's high-strungness along with Letitia's would end her.

The light and laughter of the little babies did make her days in the cold, empty house brighter. It was as if the darkness was chased away by their little pattering feet. It made her breast ache to see their chubby smiling faces. She longed for her daughter's arms around her, her face pressed against her neck.

For a moment she entertained the brief thought of forgoing toad eggs for just one night. The comforting feeling of protecting a child inside her body, the glorious feeling of bringing it into the world. Just holding her baby in her arms, feeling its warmth.

Something cold brushed the back of her neck, trailing cold fingers over her nape like licks of frostbite. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Kearny," she said hurriedly, turning around, before realizing she was alone in the room.

***

Rosannah was incredibly aware of how her bosom trembled with each bump in the road they hit. Leland made no secret of staring, and even Amos glanced her way occasionally. Rosannah had gotten her breasts too early and her father had beaten her for it. The boys had teased her mercilessly about it, called her a strumpet--as if she could help it. She crossed her arms over her chest and cast her gaze outside--only to spot a smoking car on the side of the road.

A figure was standing by the road, trying to flag someone down, and Rosannah recognized it with a start.

"Oh, I know her! That's--"

"That's Arletha Wright from Blue Ribbon Diner," said Leland. "She's a sweetheart. Bobby, we should stop."

"For those blacks?" Letitia's voice was laced with contempt.

"I know them, they're good people," protested Rosannah, and Letitia turned her head to glare at her for speaking back.

But Bobby slowed down from Leland's comments, and when they pulled up, Amos leaped out to give it a once-over.

It was smoking, the hood up. Amos looked into the car's inner workings and declared, "You needta get it towed!"

Arletha--the girl who Rosannah had met in the diner--crumpled. "But we need to get to the fair!"

"What a coincidence. We're on our way to the fair too!" Leland clapped his hands. "Hop in the car!"

Letitia looked scandalized, but Bobby reluctantly nodded. They jumped in the car with them. Leland nearly spilled onto her lap--not that he minded with his sharp, lusftful gaze and slender hand resting on her thigh--and Arletha on her other side.

Arletha was brown and round-cheeked, with her puffy black hair wound in rabbit buns on the back of her head. Her smile was broad. "Long time no see. How has maid service been treating you?"

Rosannah cast a wary glance at Robert's nape, shoulders still stiff as he drove the car. "It's been... fine."

Arletha squeezed her arm. "Leland's a big old flirt, isn't he? You'd best not be corrupted by him."

Rosannah gave a side glare to Leland, who looked quite amused. "So why are you on the way to the fair?"

"We're running a food stand. Fried squash--it's the best in town," said Arletha's father. "Come over to our concession and we'll getcha some for free!"

The fairgrounds were coming into site. A large field in the middle of Savannah--the spires of houses just visible in the distance. A racetrack was being ploughed in the middle, and striped tents were being pitched. It was far from being done, but it was coming along nicely.

A group of well-dressed men were having a very in-depth conversation at the edge of the track, and when one of them spotted Robert he was waved over. Amos trailed him to laugh and clap the men on their backs, and Letitia, without looking at Rosannah, handed Boyd to Sipsy, took Suellen by her hand, and walked off stiff-backed, leaving the rest of them behind.

"Why don't we show you around?" Suggested Arletha. "The Savannah Fair happens each year--and we spend most of the year waiting for it!"  

Arletha and her father marched ahead, Leland took Rosannah's arm, and they followed them.

Arletha pointed to a large, flat grassy square, spanning from one end of the field to the other. Rides were being slowly built, fenced off from the public. "That's where the rides'll be," she said. "You just wait for the ferris wheel. Biggest one in Georgia!"

"It's so… opulent," said Rosannah, watching the grand erected pavilions, the maypoles, the tall, towering circus tents.

"Bobby Beaufort bankrolls it all," said Mr. Wright. "He's spending so much time and advertising on the fair cause the Beauforts are destitute. All their money been frittered away and Bobby hopes to increase revenue with this fair. This one'll make it or break it."

"Say a little prayer, Edie," joked Lee ominously. "We'll need it."

_ No wonder Bobby spends so much time in his room going over his budgets and taxes. _

Leland delicately helped her over a sunken ditch half-filled with muddy water. "If you like animals," he said, "go see the livestock judging. And if you grow vegetables, see the second barn--they have a yearly contest."

"Maybe we can enter our cucumber into the contest," Rosannah spoke softly to Linney. "Think it'd win a blue ribbon?" Linney looked away shyly. "Go on. Play with Suellen, Linney. Have some fun. You can't hide behind my skirts all day." Rosannah let go of her hand and pointed her to the barns. 

Games and concessions were being set up, slowly built and still wrapped under white cloth. A channel was beginning to be dug for a gondola ride.

In a month it would be exploding with life, hand painted signs and cows snuffling behind their stables and the smell of candy apples and funnel cakes and the carnival music in the air. 

Rosannah closed her eyes. She'd been to one fair, the Missouri state one, as a very young girl. All she remembered was her amazement at the music and rides and excitement, and her father's grip as harsh as iron on her arm, and spotting her husband in the crowd… before she had married him, his long eyelashes and dark blond hair. How magical it had seemed, a wonderland so bright and full of life. Her father had brought her back to Clareton and swore he would never take her to another, said they were dens of gluttony and iniquity.

A wind blew her hair back. She smelled manure. 

"Lee!" Squealed a woman. A young woman in a short green swing dress, her gold hair in braids, was coming towards them, and threw her arms around Leland. "You haven't been to see me for ages!"

He kissed her. "I've been busy but I can make time."

"Only if you can make time for me, too," said the blonde girl's friend, a raven-haired beauty with pale, exposed shoulders.

"Ahhh, you darlins won't leave me alone!" He cupped the raven-haired woman's face and kissed her. "You go on ahead," he told Rosannah and the Wrights, and slid his arms around the girls' waists.

Rosannah wondered bitterly if the women knew they were things to him. Things to fuck and discard, stringing them along until he had no more use for them. She hated Leland then, viscerally and clearly. He was an enemy of all women.

Arletha replaced Lee's arm in hers as they walked on. "The geese always cause a ruckus every fair season," she told Rosannah. "They'll chase the toddlers around and honk. Keep an eye on that little boy of yours."

"He's Letitia's," said Rosannah, feeling embarrassed. 

"Just give 'em a good kick and they'll flap and waddle off. If--" she suddenly stopped, and her eyes went wide. Arletha stepped back to hide behind Rosannah. "Look. It's HIM!"

Rosannah followed her gaze. A tall, well-dressed group were standing and gossiping by the racetracks. One of them--a tall, black boy wearing a boater hat--was holding another of the shorter boys' hats above his head, laughing. The shorter boy snatched it back and crammed it back on his head, but he was laughing as well. He aimed a kick which the other boy dodged deftly.

Mr. Wright cackled. "Arletha wants to marry that boy."

Arletha puffed her cheeks. "Well, I don't think THAT'S ever gonna happen." She looked back at the group--they were messing around and shoving each other while the older women--in high-necked lace dresses--fanned themselves with large fans. 

"They're well-heeled," she said, her voice dropping into sadness. Her eyes became somber. "They'd never let us together anyway... all Dad and I do is run a diner. He'll marry some debutante or family friend's daughter, I guess. But it's fun to dream..."

"Oh, we'll see. I'll put a spell on him for you, Arlie. I'll go to Bonaventure Cemetery and talk to some people." Mr. Wright winked. "Soon you'll have him wrapped around your little finger, I promise."

"Dad! How many times do I have to tell you! Stop with that superstitious stuff! You're embarrassing me!" Arletha covered her face and stalked away, her blue dress hiked up to her knees to avoid mud staining the hem.

"Who is he?" Rosannah asked Mr. Wright. She studied the boy closely. He was tall and rangy, dressed in a white suit, and he had taken off his boater hat to laugh and wipe his forehead. He was very handsome, with a big smile and his clownish manner, and the chrysanthemum tucked into the breast of his shirt. His mother barked at him while fanning himself harder, looking every inch the embarrassed society lady.

"It's Noah Broughton, Vedette's boy. Vedette's strict with him--she's been a staple of high society since she came out in her debutante ball and married a doctor. Noah's sisters are all in teachers' colleges, but he wants to horse around and flirt get into trouble. Gives his mother conniptions."

_ Sounds like my Leland, _ she thought bitterly. 

"Mr. Wright, you know everything about everyone around here."

"I been around Savannah a long time. So's my whole family." He walked around the track with her, watching the skeletons of the rides beginning to get set up.

Rosannah saw Letitia holding Boyd up to pat the nose of a horse. Rosannah waved at her, but as soon as Letitia saw them, she scowled and turned away.

"I'm sorry about her... she's a--"

"Basket case and always has been." Mr. Wright took a puff on his pipe, saying it so nonchalantly she looked at him in surprise. "Just like her cousin Perdita."

Rosannah blinked.  _ Perdita? Robert and Lee's mother? _

"What was wrong with Perdita?"

"Well, she was a society lady. Always had been. Never liked her husband much, always belittled him, even in company. He was gone most of the time anyway, and no wonder--Perdita liked her lovers. Just like her brother Harland. She was always off with one man or another… always thought it bothered Robert. He never brings it up--Perdita might as well have been a saint to him. But all those men, in and out of the house… prob'ly had some effect on him."

The prickles of rain were becoming too much. Rosannah snatched a look behind her, worried that some society wife's beady eyes were fixed on her. A shiver ran over her shoulders.  _ I shouldn't be hearing this. _

"Her brother Harland--Lee always took after him. Biggest flirt in Savannah. Never married, and why should he, with an elegant lady on his arm every night? Just lived with his sister and her sons and bred horses. He and his nephew Lee were close--that's where he got his love of racing."

"Is he going to race in this fair?" Rosannah tried to keep her voice jovial.

"You can bet on it. Bobby don't trust him to race any of his prize horses, though. Those brothers always did have their tiffs."

"I can see that." Rosannah could sense the tension between them. It was faint but taut.

Workers were digging out a dirt ditch on the sides of the field. Rosannah tread too close and was whistled at. She wrapped her dress around her and walked closer to Mr. Wright.

"You wanna know something else, Edith?" Mr. Wright's smoke spiralled into the gray sky. "Bout that family? The Beauforts? They're related to the Broughtons."

Rosannah looked back at the racetrack in surprise. Now that she peered closer, she saw similarities in Noah--his high cheekbones, just like Robert, and those eyes. Everyone in that bloodline had those pale eyes.

"Letitia don't like black folk much, as you can clearly see. Specifically the Broughtons. It all started with her great-grandfather--Clement Beaufort, on the eve of the Civil War's end. Clement always was a strange 'un. Melancholy. A bit off his rocker. Couldn't even tell what he was thinking most of the time.  Well, when he died, his daughter Evangeline was spectin a big payout. A thousand acres outside Savannah, she had her eye on. But when they opened up his will, he'd left every acre to a son he had by a slave--every single acre! And Evangeline was madder n'hell. She took them to court for years and sued the living daylights out of them, but after so much time and money, the judge sided with the Broughtons.

"Then Evangeline was broke, so she moved onto Atlanta and had Letitia's mother, who then had Letitia. The Broughtons are still the largest black landowners in Savannah. And boy, ole Lettie Chapman don't like that much."

Rosannah blinked. "That... explains a lot."

"Letty always thought the world owed her more than it did. Even after she married Amos Kearny and all his oil riches. She'll never stop wantin' more. Some people just born unhappy and complain until the day they die."

The sky was beginning to darken with rain, and Rosannah shielded her face. "We should head home soon."

Arletha came running back. "Well, I talked to Mr. Rummel. He said he'd let us have our same spot as last year--but we'd have to pay extra."

Mr. Wright spat. "Well, not if my friends in Bonaventure have somethin' to say about that."

"Daaaad!"

"Do you still need a ride back?" Asked Rosannah. Linney was coming running back with Suellen, tripping over the hems of their dresses.

"No, we got friends here. Wouldn't want to share another car with that banshee anyway, ha. We'd best be leaving."

Rosannah caught his arm. "I have one more question to ask before you go."

He looked down at her under the brim of his straw hat, half smile and a twinkle in his eyes. "Bout the Beauforts?"

Her heart thumped. "Yes."

"Got your little heart set on diggin' up all that familys' secrets? I advise you stop right now. You're just gonna cause yourself misery. Better people n' you have dug and better people n' you wish they hadn't."

Rosannah felt a chill sweep over her body along with the brief stabs of cold as stray raindrops hit her bare skin. "I wanna know--about the attic. And about, this woman. Whether she's a relative or--or something. No one tells me anything. But she was young, and she had on this--old fashioned dress, and her neck was all purple. I SAW her. Bobby just brushed me off. But I KNEW she was there. And then--sometimes I hear real loud knocks in the attic, and they tell me that's nothing either. But I know I hear them too. I feel like I'm going crazy."

Rosannah heard Robert shout from behind her. "Edith! In the car!" 

Mr. Wright leaned closer.

"You're gonna have to find that out yourself," he whispered. "The secret's in the photographs. And that's all I'll say."

And he said nothing else, just watching as Rosannah took Linney's hand and led her away.

***

Robert talked on the way home, to Amos, and Letitia sulked, which she seemed to like doing a lot. Her dark anger always seemed to linger just beneath her skin.

"It looks like Gold Rush is up against some contenders."

"That dapple gray looks like she might give him a run for his money."

"And did you see how much they raised the rent on the fairgrounds? Do they think I have bottomless pockets? If this one doesn't recoup the money I put in... well, let me put it this way: it had better." A strand of platinum hair had come loose over his forehead, and Robert brushed it away angrily.

Linney Belle was dozing on Rosannah's lap, exhausted after such a big day of fun. Her formerly wan cheeks were flushed rosy.  Rosannah loved how light her eyelashes were as they twitched in sleep, like beams of sunshine. She adored it when the little girl came out of her shell.

Leland put his hand over her knee again, rubbing a thumb against her thigh. She shrugged off his hand and refused to look at him, instead reverting her gaze to the rain-speckled windows and the grand mansions looming behind those blurred streams of water.

***

The house was quiet--that eerie quietness that felt like wool over her ears. Just the patter of rain sounded down the vast roof of the building, dripped down the wall-length windows, and echoed through the empty house. Rosannah carried dirty dishes down the main staircase, listening to herself breathe.

Rosannah had time to herself, for once in a long while. Those two horror aunts, Priscilla and Cecelia, were holed up in their rooms and not bothering her. Even Ezra was fast asleep when she checked in, drooling on his pillow. Leland wasn't around to bother her--she had a sneaking suspicion that he had gone off to meet those women he had met at the fair.

Rosannah set the dishes in the kitchen and washed her hands. She left through the sitting room--and as she did so, she noticed something out of place.

On the white mantelpiece, below the portrait of the stern, white-mustachioed Clement Beaufort, was a large, iron ring of keys. She picked them up--they were heavy, with thick reams of keys lining them. She realized what it was with a start--they must have been the master keys. Had Leland left them? Or had Robert misplaced them?

She stowed them in her apron, heart thumping. She met Sipsy holding sleeping Boyd while coming up the staircase. "Do you wanna sit out on the porch with me? I was going to make some iced tea."

"No, thank you. Maybe tomorrow?"

She got inside her room and locked it tight, and ran the keys through her fingers, thinking.  _ The answer is in the photographs... What photographs? There are so many old photos here, it would take me days to go through them all. Maybe they don't even mean the Photos in Bethlehem Hall. Maybe the photos in the Savannah Town Hall? _

There were so many secrets and she had never been so far away from unraveling them.

As she lay on her bed, rubbing her fingers over the old, rusted keys, a glint of light distracted her.

It was the doorknob to the locked door.

She allowed herself a little smile.  _ Well, maybe a little closer to solving these mysteries. _

Rosannah bent in front of the padlock and laboriously began to try one key after another. They jangled in the silence of the room. The many black eyes on the wall of photos glared down at her.

She tried one after another --there had to have been dozens of them--until one old, tarnished brass key clicked in. She undid the padlock and hesitated, looking at the long-locked door, then turned the doorknob.

It slid open with a creak. A dark passageway loomed in front of her--narrower than a closet and with a low ceiling hung with cobwebs. The light from her lamp only penetrated a few feet, leaving the rest of the passage swathed with darkness.

Rosannah lit a candle and stepped quietly into the passage. Her shoulders brushed the sides of the walls, and she had to duck her head. She stepped lightly, but her footsteps still creaked loudly, as if the floor hadn't seen human feet in years.

She took a turn, and the light behind her disappeared. Her breaths were loud in the enclosed space.

Rosannah heard loud voices up ahead. She froze in shock before she realized that they were coming from behind the wall. The closer she came, she realized it was Robert's voice. He was on the phone, shouting at someone. The passage must have led behind the other rooms,though the walls.

She kept on walking, winding around twists and turns and avoiding studded nails, until the candle lit up the first step of a stair.

Rosannah looked up. The staircase was pitted with holes and draped with cobwebs, and reached up into...nothing?

She blinked. It vanished into the ceiling. It led to nowhere.

The woman climbed the rising stairs anyway, her dress trailing behind her and her bare feet treading softly on the cracked planks. It was when she reached the fifth stair she realized something else-- there was a small, narrow passage at the very top of the stairs, hidden by the placement of the top stair and ceiling.

The black-haired woman swallowed. If she tried, she could fit. Barely, but she could. Would she want to? What if she got stuck? 

More importantly,  _ where did it lead? _

Holding the candle in one hand, she got on her hands and knees and inched in. Foot by foot, elbows scraping the floor, she dragged herself along. 

Rosannah was closed in on all sides. Spiderwebs brushed her face, and something scuttled over her wrist. Her candle spluttered. It was hard to breathe--her chest had no room to expand.  _ I should really turn back,  _ she thought.

But she pulled herself forward, aware of just how dark and alone it was. The passage was neverending. It stretched on and on.

Rosannah was becoming lightheaded. Her chest was compressed and the flame was eating up her oxygen. Then something cold and iron smacked her forehead. 

It was a round iron ring hanging from the ceiling.   She grabbed it and forced it upwards, straining until the ceiling door creaked, then the trapdoor slammed open.

Air rushed into the small passageway. Rosannah climbed out, still holding her candle, and as she got to her feet, the flame illuminated a vast, dark, beamed ceiling, looming so far above that she was suddenly very aware of how small she was, and how big the--

Attic. She was in the attic.

She slowly looked around. There were objects all around--furniture, grandfather clocks, desks, even a well-carved vanity, all spun with spiderwebs, ancient and forgotten in this vast room. Storage? The orange light flickered dully off the polished wood.

The hairs on the nape of her neck pricked. Rosannah was not supposed to be here.

Holding her candle high, she moved slowly through the room. Its enormity made her feel like a mouse. She came to a stop in front of a full-length mirror, edged with gold. A thick sheet of dust covered its surface, and she wiped away a steak so she could see her face.

Something dark moved behind her.

Rosannah whipped around, fear and shock rising sharp, and fumbled with the candle. It dropped to the ground and sputtered out, and a blanket of darkness fell over the attic.

Her heart was thudding so fast she could hear it in her ears. She felt her way around the attic, tripping and bumping into the various furniture, until she came to a sliver of light on the opposite wall and her hands touched thick, heavy velvet.

She pulled the curtains open and the attic was flooded with waning, evening light. 

Even in the light, it retained its unnerving silence. The dark shapes of discarded, forgotten furniture and various objects--a large chest was halfway open, and a lace sleeve dangled out. A large wardrobe leaned against the far wall, made of solid oak and shut tight. A sewing machine glinted silver in the evening light, needle still in its grip.

Why was Robert so insistent that she had to stay away from here? All it looked to her was a place to put unused furniture. Was he afraid she would steal something? Perhaps there was jewelry somewhere--

Rosannah heard a creak coming from the far end of the attic, through the jungle of furniture. She picked her way through, hair clammy enough to stick to her shoulders as every molecule in her body rebelled at being there.

A white rocking chair, paint chipped and peeling. It stood stark against the blackness of the wall. 

It was twitching back and forth. Just inches. Just enough so that you'd assume someone had touched and upset it.

But instead of slowing down, it started to creak louder, rocking back and forth frantically, the treads wearing grooves in the thick dust underneath. It violently rocked until it tipped over backwards, falling to the floor with a crash.

And then the curtains fell, plunging her into utter darkness.

***

Her legs were trembling. She didn't move a muscle. In the pitch-darkness, she didn't notice she was holding her breath until her lungs started screaming for air.

Rosannah heard the distinct  _ tap-tap-tap  _ of the sewing machine starting, and it yanked her out of her freeze. She began backing away, blind in the darkness, knowing she was being hunted by something that lurked here, and she  _ needed to get out, she needed to _ \--

And then the bangs started.

They were ten times as loud as when she heard them in her bedroom, reverberating from every direction shaking the attic like an earthquake with the hard pounding, slamming and furious bangs, coming from everywhere and yet nowhere. 

Rosannah ran. The  _ noise--  _ she could not hear herself think. The noise was angry. It was angry that she was there. She stumbled over the dusty, abandoned miscellaneous objects, tripping and kicking and feeling her way through hard wood, soft velour--objects she could not identify. The darkness was so intense, a scream welled up in her throat to echo through the vast, empty ceiling.

Her hand encountered something that shocked her palm with cold--she realized it was a lock. A lock on a door. She pressed her thumb underneath until it clicked open with the most heavenly sound she had ever heard, and she fled down a long flight of stairs, leaving the banging behind her, tears streaming down her face until she came to a brightly-lit, pink chintz hallway.

The change was so jarring it halted her for a moment--the contrast between the dark, yawning attic and the vibrant and decorated hallway.

Something heavy began to slam down the stairs. 

Rosannah tore down the hallway, past rooms and rooms of perfect furniture and tables and vanities--delicate sofas and tall wardrobes, all frozen in time with a thick layer of dust covering them.

Women's rooms. Vanities and hand mirrors and pink bedspreads. Long-decaying flowers in vases. Lace curtains opened to let in white, waning sunlight. It was the brightly-lit impression of a middle-aged woman's rooms--perhaps a middle-aged woman like--

She passed a window looking out into the garden, and realized where she was with a jolt.

_ I'm in the back wing,  _ she realized as the other rooms passed in a blur.  _ These are--these must be-- _

The steps slammed steadily, running after her with the momentum of an animal, and no matter how much she ran, she could hear them getting closer--

Rosannah slammed into a locked door, frantically tried the brass doorknob. It wouldn't open. She fumbled her keys, tears of fear stinging her ears as the bangs got  _ closer and closer and closer,  _ tried one, tried another, and as the bangs were beginning to round the corner one of the keys clicked and she flung herself through.

Rosannah slammed the door behind her and tripped over her shoes as she began running through another pink corridor.

_ I need to get out of here, _ her whirring, wild mind said.  _ I should have never--I should have never-- _

She smacked into another door just as the one behind her burst open, and she frantically began trying her keys, fingers sweaty and dropping them, tears of fear streaming down her face as the  _ thing  _ chasing her got closer and closer and closer, and when the key gave the blissful click,  she tore it open and--

Came face to face with Robert Beaufort.

***

Before Rosannah quite knew it, it was quiet.

She had never been so close to Robert before. She could count every eyelash framing his wide, startled blue eyes, smell the freshness of his white suit--the powdered deodorant she had put on it for him.

Her breath spiralled over his lips, which were parted with shock. A stray strand of silver hair fell to tickle her face as she stared into his eyes, only a inch apart.

His eyes, bewildered at first, suddenly flared with such fury that she took a step back.

_ "I told you never to go into the back wing!"  _ He howled, his voice pitching like an animal. The raw anger in his tone and eyes made her heart begin to judder and skip as memories of her husband rose in her mind.

He seized her by her long, curling black hair and brutally yanked her down the stairs. Rosannah was crying and pleading, tears streaming down her face, but he ignored her, shouting insults and spitting and cruelly dragging her along.

He came to her door and flung it open, then heaved her inside. She stumbled and fell onto the bed, watching fearfully as he stepped in after her.

His broad shoulders were heaving, pale hair in disarray. His fists clenched and unclenched as he eyed her with eyes as cold as ice.

"Linney Belle is fond of you," he said in a deadly quiet voice, "But if you ever--if you  _ ever  _ disobey me like that again--"

He slammed her into the bed, forcing every breath out of her chest. His chest was pressed and trembling against hers, bodies molded so close she could hear his rapid heartbeat. "Don't you  _ ever--go into my mother's rooms." _

She daw a bead of sweat trickle down his flushed face as his breath spiralled over her face. His eyes were filmy, the color of a roiling sea.

There was a lump pressing insistently between the cleft of her thighs. She revolted in panic when she realized what it was, but Robert was not moving, nor thrusting as his brother had been. He was frozen, hips tense against hers.

Rosannah could almost smell the precum seeping through his pants. But Robert abruptly threw himself away, a vicious, humiliated expression on his face.

He wordlessly slammed the door behind him, locking it with a harsh click. She lay on her bed, trembling in fear with her lace dress hiked up above her waist.

Rosannah noticed the yawning openness of the doorway to the attic, and hurriedly shut it and locked the padlock in place. The thought of the ominous, narrow corridor made her more frightened than ever.

She retreated to her bed, shaking and repressing her tears and barely able to comprehend the occurrences of the last hour. Rosannah had always been a stoic child--she'd had to. During the whole of her childhood as the daughter of a snake-wielding Pentecostal preacher and her brutally repressive adulthood as the wife of a man who thought a punch in the face spoke his displeasure more than a sharp word, Rosannah had come to realize early that the more you repressed your emotions, the easier your life would be.

But she couldn't help shedding a few tears of fear as she leaned against her pillow, the utter horror of the angry, vast  _ thing  _ in the attic coming after her and the cruel press of Robert's erection against her most closely guarded place. 

_ I should have never taken this job, _ some part of her sobbed.  _ I should have gone somewhere else. West Virginia. Kentucky. Montana. Anywhere but here. _

She realized belatedly that she needed to take her toad eggs. Leland would be back--if not tomorrow, then some time soon after. As well as the revelation of Robert's--attraction? Whatever it was, she was taking no chances.

After a while heaving sobs into her pillow, she pushed her long, black curly locks behind her shoulders and went to the plush red window seat to start to grind her eggs. 

As she mushed the fetal tadpoles into paste, she watched the still, pale marble statue in the middle of the courtyard. Moss was beginning to drape over the arms and the arched neck, dark in the silvery night. It was so dark. The forest surrounded them--dark and clutching like Leland's arms.

Rosannah heard a faint sobbing, distant and yet present.

It was somewhere in the vast mansion, and yet clinging close to her. It echoed like the croak of a frog, so close and yet so far. She knew she should be more frightened, but she was numb.

Her silent, trembling hands mashed, and her eyes brimmed with unshed tears. She heard the cries, and wished to cry along with them.

_ Who are you?  _ She wondered. 

The heavy sobs were as far away as heaven.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Exposition! Spoops!


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rosannah gets dragged along on a night in Savannah--and finally receives a revelation about the mysteries of Bethlehem Hall.

Rosannah carefully pinned her hair up. The planks hammered onto the vanities prevented her from checking herself in the mirror, but she smoothed her hands along her hair anyway. 

Through her window it was sunny, and the statue in repose cast a long shadow over the ancient cobblestones. She saw the distant figures of Suellen and Boyd chasing each other over the grass.

Rosannah made her way downstairs, and met Sipsy halfway. "Oh, Edie, you're up late! No, it's okay, I already made breakfast."

"Sipsy, thank you so much. I had a… bad night."

As she passed the door to Robert's office, she heard a snatch of Linney's voice, then a deeper one answering her. She opened the door and poked her head in. "Linney?"

Robert was sitting with his daughter at his desk, bible open in front of him. One of his fingers was running along a sentence as he carefully and slowly read the word of the Lord. When Linney Belle noticed Rosannah, her hangdog look brightened a little. "Are we doing spelling today, Edie?"

When Robert's eyes met Rosannah's, they blazed cold. "What the devil are you wearing, McCurdy? Are you trying to tempt me? Are you trying to tempt every man in this house? Keep your whorish breasts covered." 

His teeth were gritted as he spoke, and his voice was guttural, suppressing rage in a way she had never heard before. As Rosannah fumbled with the front of her dress, Robert pushed his chair back and was in front of her in three long strides, yanking her hands away.

His face was close enough that she felt his breath on her forehead, but his face was bowed so that his silver hair covered his eyes. She could still see the cruel set of his mouth as he roughly buttoned the front of her dress, knuckles scraping over her bare skin. 

When he was done he pushed her roughly away, and she stumbled back in surprise. He had never manhandled her like that. He sent her a hard glare as he returned to his daughter, her ticket to leave.

Amos was smoking a pipe in the living room along his wife Letty and one of the horror aunts. He was the only one who smiled at her. "Sleepyhead!"

Rosannah rubbed her eyes. "Did Leland come back last night?"

"He's muckin' out the stalls. Hard work, might want to take him a cold drink."

Rosannah dutifully went out to the stables in back of Bethlehem Hall. The distant yells and laughs of Boyd and Suellen warmed her heart. She wished that Linney could have joined them.

Ankle deep in the horse stables, Leland mucked them out, digging his shovel into the mixed manure and hay and tossing it out in a heap. He wore no shirt, and his golden-brown hair stuck to his neck in sweat. As he looked over to her, his chest was glimmering with a sheen of sweat, running in droplets.

"Do you need any help?" She asked politely, setting the pitcher of lemon tea on a stool. "It's a hard job you're doing."  _ Probably the only hard work you ever do. _

He smiled, leaving against the stable. "Oh, Edie. You shy away, but I know you're just here because you're jealous. Did you spend all night awake, thinking of me? Of the women I was with?"

The memory of last night made a phantom shiver through her body. "No. It's a quiet day, I wanted to know if you needed help. If not, I'll take to leave."

She shouldn't have said that, because his eyes twinkled darkly. "Oh, yes. Fetch me a few feed bags, if you would. I still have the rest of the stall to feed."

Rosannah did so grudgingly. As Leland fixed to his horse's muzzle, he beckoned her. "Let me show you something."

The horse brayed and swished its tail. It was a handsome piebald with a thick dark mane and white back legs. Leland lifted its back leg in his hand, checking its shoe. Even with how ornery the horse seemed, it placidly let Lee handle it. He must have had a magic touch

"You ever hear that saying?" Lee said. "One white foot, buy him. Two white feet, try him. Three white feet, be on the sly. Four white feet, pass him by."

He looked up at her with twinkling gray eye. "The whiter they get, the crazier they are. That's rule of thumb."

Rosannah thought of Robert, and his snowy pale hair and thought there must have been something to that.

His hands lingered over hers as she handed them, and then his hand closed over her wrist. "I haven't been paying enough attention to you lately," he murmured into her ear.

She tried to jerk away from him, but his grip was hard. They were both standing ankle deep in horse manure. His hand crept under her dress.

"How about I make it up to you? We'll have ourselves a little date. I know you must be jealous of those girls I spent the night with… all three of us in one bed… you fingered your little pussy to the thought, didn't you?"

Rosannah's jaw was locked, and she jerked away from his tongue laving her ear. She squeezed her thighs together to prevent his hot hand from reaching inside her. "I have work to do."

"Oh, I'm sure you can let it ride for one night. Savannah River, 8:00. You'll be with me. I'm ready to do some gambling with a woman on my arm." His breath washed over her neck as he nipped it, then let her go. Her legs felt like jelly as she braced herself against the stable wall.

"Surely you have another lover that's mooning after your attention you can take. I've gotten enough of your love for one week."

He smiled in a sly way. "There's no such thing as too much of my love. 8:00 sharp." He pushed off from the wall and went back to mucking the stall.

***

She whiled her time away that day avoiding the rest of the adult Beauforts, playing with Suellen and Boyd and cleaning the kitchen. Linney had still not emerged from her father's den. By the time she did, it was dinner time, and she looked as if she had aged ten years.

"Linney sweetie, where were you all day?"

"Bible study," she said sounding exhausted. She buried her face in Rosannah's neck. Rosannah dreaded what Robert had been teaching her, especially after last night.

"Linney Belle, I don't know what your daddy said about me, but he gets angry sometimes, and if he says I'm bad and sinful, well…"

"Daddy didn't say nothin bad about you, Edie. He called you a good woman. Said you were the only woman worth a damn in this house."

Rosannah looked down at Linney's little impassive green eyes, her own eyes wide with shock. Her ears wasn't working right, or else why would she have heard that? 

"I believe it's almost time for you to set the table," said Robert, his voice as hard like his shoulder as he shoved past her. 

***

"Isn't it gorgeous? You'll look beautiful in it."

Rosannah stared mutely at the tight, slinky black dress, the neckline diving about three inches too far for her liking. "No, thank you, Leland."

"Oh, come on. You'll be a prize. It accentuates all your best features--your hair and... your bust.,"

"Leland, if you want to tear my clothes off and stuff me into that yourself you're welcome to try, but I'm going to be fighting you all the way."

He eyed her in a sly way that she suspected was him wondering whether he should chance it, but he threw up his hands melodramatically and turned away. "Have it your way. Choose anything from the closet."

Most of the dresses in the closet were fashionable and very well-made, with sequins, feathers and silk, sometimes all in the same dress. "Where did you get so many dresses?"

"My mother Perdita, rest her soul, she had quite an eye for fashion. Don't worry, most of these were only worn once."

From what Mr. Wright had told her, Rosannah wondered how many of them had ended up crumpled at the foot of a bed along with Perdita's brassiere and slip. She chose a modest pink Southern Belle dress with a layered ruffled skirt. It left her shoulders uncovered, but didn't dip beneath the tops of her breasts.

Leland was dressed nicely as well, nothing like a ranch hand. He wore a red velvet waistcoat, buttoned tightly over his hips, a white dress shirt with lace cuffs and a cravat that flowed over his breast. His golden-brown hair was tied in the back of his head in a loose chignon bun, a few strands of hair falling across his face to brush his cheekbone. "Shall we go?"

Leland escorted her out of the house as grandly as if they were descending a staircase to a royal ball, and they took the winding backcountry roads in the deepening evening. He parked near the river and led her down to the cobblestone riverbank that wound its way through Savannah. Restaurants and shops crowded the bank, the grand brick buildings and the light from the lanterns flickered off the merrily painted storefronts. The banks were crowded and the streetlamps bathed the red stones in light, glinting off the silk dresses and lacquered high heels. 

An enormous steamboat was docked on the river, three stories tall, with tiered porches. The spokes of its massive wheels done in white and vivid red, and its windows glittered bright as stars, casting squares of diamonds to shine over the dark, choppy river.

A sign hanging and painted on the front said  _ Heart of Dixie Riverboat & Casino. _

"I thought gambling was illegal in Georgia," said Rosannah.

"It's a loophole. Gambling ain't allowed on Georgia land, see. We're a godly people, and sinnin' like that don't got no place here. But boats ain't on land." He winked at her and slid his arm into her own, pulling her down the gangplank.

"Good to see you back, Lee," said the doorman. "Likewise, Harry," said Lee, sliding a generous tip into his pocket.

The inside was as opulent and glamorous as anything Rosannah had ever seen. Waiters swanned around with silver platters of champagne and hors d'oeuvres. The walls were done in blue and white flowers, lanterns glimmering in set torches. On each level laughs echoed and cards were dealt, the noise spiralling up to the ceiling of the riverboat.

A vast ceiling, hung with golden chandeliers, sent white and gold light reflecting off the diamonds of the elegant society women, off their sequined, feathered dresses, off the cufflinks of the well-dressed men in tuxedos who spun dice, dealt cards, won and cheered and lost and cursed.

Leland went right over to one of the tables and took out a wad of cash. "Which game are we playin' tonight, boys?"

"Blackjack," said the elegant older woman beside him, diamonds dripping from her wrists and neck. She tilted his chin towards her with a finger and gave him a very long kiss. "Who's your girlie?"

"Edith McCurdy. And don't you worry your pretty little heart, Madam Fitzgerald--she's just our maid, out for a little fun. You're still my number one sweetheart."

"Best of luck, Miss McCurdy," said Madam Fitzgerald to Rosannah. "Between these two, I'm surprised you have any free time at all."

Rosannah turned with her back to the table. The shuffle of cards and cash bothered her, made her insides twist up tight. The thunderous condemnations of her father echoed in her mind, tearing apart gambling and card playing as nothing but the devil's invention.

Someone offered her a flute of champagne. She waved it away. She felt dirty just being there.

Her eyes shifted from person to person. She wondered how long she would be there. Women and men toasted, drank, threw down wads of bills. Southern drawls echoed through the air. A young woman with short hair was kissing a man in the corner, and his hand was halfway up her dress. Rosannah looked away in embarrassment.

Leland was downing dark liquid that definitely wasn't champagne. His russet hair hung in front of his flushed face.

Her neck burned and prickled.

***

Rosannah had spent far too long in this den of sin, and Leland was tossing more money on the table, and she was feeling strangely unsettled. Her eyes shifted from glittering stress to glittering dress.

Something flashed in the corner of her eye.

There were two men bent over a poker table, both with their backs to her. One was black-haired, the other had thick, dark golden hair. The light of the chandelier glinted off his locks as he lifted his head and tilted it, face hidden.

The man made a sudden, gut churning familiarity rise within her. His broad shoulders, the way he moved. 

Rosannah tried to steady her breathing. Her underwear was becoming moist with the wetness gathering between her thighs.

The dark haired man stood up straight and tossed his cards down. The blond man gave a loud guffaw  _ the laugh was so familiar _ and Leland was laughing and the chips were clattering and her fright and paranoia was rising to a crest and--

***

Rosannah ran outside.

She bent over the rail of the ship. The waves broke underneath her as she retched what little food was in her belly.

A man bumped into her. "You had too much to drink, darlin?"

Rosannah heaved and smoothed her hair back. "No. I--no. I'm just… a little seasick. I'll leave soon."

A hand slid between her legs. "You lookin for some company tonight, honey sweet? Come home and I'll make you scream til the cows come home. I can just taste the sugar in your pussy."

Rosannah looked in shock at the man beside her. He was plain, young, with protruding teeth and a predatory look in his eye. His red hair was greasy and coming loose from its pomade.

"I promise you, I'll give you the ride of your life. You want money? How much?"

She tore away and staggered back inside. Her eyes were darting, the chatter and clink of goblets grinding like splinters of glass in her ears, and she made her way over to Leland and grabbed him. "Lee. Please, let's go home."

He was leaning on the table for support, and ge turned his red-rimmed eyes on her. "Oh, Edie darling, I've got a winning streak, I swear--"

"It's 'bout time to take your boy home before he gambles away all of Bethlehem Hall's money," said Mrs. Fitzgerald wryly. Rosannah took her advice and took his arm, pulling him away. When the clock registered, she realized it had been more time than she suspected. Far more time.

Gripping Leland by the arm, she led him out of the boat and up the cobblestones to his car. She confiscated his keys from his fumbling hands and shoved him in the passenger seat.

Rosannah was shaking and panicking and it took a few tries to get the key in the ignition. The sight of that dark blond head kept rising up in her mind unbidden. She sped off down the crowded streets and then down the winding, empty rural roads.

Throughout the whole time, Leland kept shifting closer to her, diving his hand between her legs. She kept elbowing him away, but he kept muttering filthy words in her ear and slipping his hand under her dress again. His breath smelled of whiskey and she could see his erection tenting underneath his pants.

He had just managed to slide his icy fingers under her undergarments when she lost her temper and slapped him viciously. She was jittery and losing her temper and seeing dark shadows in the road.

Leland clutched his cheek. "Why are you so cold?" He whined. "I've never met a woman that treated me so cruelly."

Her fingers tightened on the wheel. "You know what you did to me last time you got me drunk?" She spat, her hidden resentment making its way to her mouth. "You should be grateful that I'm taking care of you. I should shoot you in the head and drop you on the side of the road."

That shut him up. But she noticed that his eyes had gone cold and more calculating, losing their drunken merriness.

When they parked in front of the plantation house, the lights on the porch were on. When she escorted him up the steps and opened the door, a furious Robert was there to greet her.

He had been stewing and waiting for them, it seemed, in the bench opposite the door, and when they came in, he leaped up and began shouting.

"Where have you been?" He screamed. "Out debauching yourselves? Is that what you've been doing? With my own  _ maid _ , Leland?"

"Bobby," said Leland, still heavily leaning on her, "Oh, we just went out to have some fun, I swear it, nothing untoward happened…"

"You." He rounded on his brother, grasping him by his shoulders and thrusting his face near his.

Rosannah had never seen them like this--she had rarely seen them interact at all. But now sparks were fuming between them, and brother was against brother, and Robert held his brother by his lapels and all his fury was shouted into his face, his pale hair in disarray.

"You useless waste of space. Always running off, whoring yourself like a woman. You're a disgrace to God on earth. You're lucky I don't toss you put of Bethlehem Hall. Perhaps then you would get some decency and start respecting His word!" 

Lee's face was blurry and intoxicated, eyes rimmed with red. His head bowed and he pulled away, a hint of anger in his movements, yet not willing to directly confront his brother.

Then Robert's furious, stormy pale eyes fixed on Rosannnah. He gripped her black hair and twisted it cruelly, pulling her until her face was right against his and his breath washed across her face. He yanked her forward, eyes blue and wild. 

"Whoring around," he said, voice raw with fury. "Lifting your skirts.  _ Spreading  _ your legs for any man that paid you any attention…" he was spiralling into some bizarre internal rant, and the intense hatred and tremble in his voice made Rosannah wonder if it were  _ she  _ who he was talking about at all. "Inviting whatever man takes your fancy, letting them share you like a, like a,  _ prostitute!" _

He slammed her into the wall, and in the corner of her eye, she saw Linney Belle standing still in the doorway, eyes wide and scared as her father abused Rosannah, his cruel grip grinding her into the wall.

"Bobby, you let go of Edith right now. She ain't done nothin'!" Leland's voice was rising to a shout, and between the pain, Rosannah worried if the relatives would come down and see them. That made the impetus to yank herself from his cruel fists, and stagger away. 

"I'll take myself to bed right now," Rosannah said loudly. "I apologize for staying out so late. It will not happen again. Goodnight, Mr. Beaufort."

As she hurriedly left, she swept up Linney in her arms, and kissed and cuddled her as she mounted the steps to her room.

The harsh whiskey breath of Leland washed over her ear as he walked right behind her on the wide, echoing steps. "Linney, you're ready to sleep, aren't you?" He crooned, taking his niece into his arms.

"Yeah… Uncle Lee…" Linney looked back to Rosannah, green eyes crinkled and lower lip folding in a sob. Lee kissed her affectionately and held her close. "Go to bed, my little Belle. Edie and I have some business to finish. I'll take you horse riding in the morning, how about that?"

Linney still looked longingly, pathetically at Rosannah, and she knew all the girl wanted was to wrap herself in her arms and try to forget what she had just seen, but Leland set her down and shooed her off, a warm smile on his face, and Linney sadly trudged into the darkness that swallowed her up, checking over her shoulder with her face wan.

Rosannah wanted to go to her, but Lee yanked her into her upstairs room and threw her in. "That cocksucker always stickin' his nose where it doesn't belong. See what I have to live with?" He hatefully kicked the door shut and turned the lock.

Rosannah was smoothing her dark curls back,  as Lee turned towards her. "I've been wanting to do this to you all night," he slurred, unbundling his belt. Rasping, just like that other man. _ Pussy tastes like sugar.  _ Even the thought of his voice made shudders of revulsion make their way down her spine.

"I jus wanted to run my fingers over your thighs. Wearing that teasing little Southern Belle dress. I wanted to lift it up and take you onto the pier and fuck you in the moonlight until you screamed louder than the waves breaking."

"Linney Belle needed me," she broke out. "Didn't you see how scared she was? She was frightened by her daddy treating me like that. She wanted to know if I was all right!"

"Linney's seen worse," he said dismissively. "She'll get over it." 

Rosannah clenched her fists. "For someone who professes their love for children, you don't seem to care about them very much. Children need to be nurtured… to be cradled and cared for. Linney Belle most of all."

Leland smiled coyly, tilted his head. His pale eyes showed a blissful blankness.

"Babies are cute," Leland said whimsically. "When Linney Belle was born, I played with her all the time. She's growing up, of course, and I'll barely recognize her when she's a grown woman. She'll be a stranger to me. If only there was a way to keep children as children, so, they wouldn't grow up and argue and run off on us." His gray eyes shifted to fix on hers with the coldness of ice. "I love children. They look at you like you're Jesus Christ himself. It's a most remarkable feeling to be worshipped like that. Like every word you say is gospel. Is there any more wonderful a feeling than that? Being a person's whole world. Being their  _ god?" _

Those words echoed in her mind. She felt a dull sort of chill sweep over her. Underneath his laughing, playful smile and demeanor was something cold and analytical, something that rarely surfaced but was the backing for the mask he put on. 

"You are horrendous," she said quietly. "You don't see us as people, do you? You see us as objects."

Leland shut her up with a kiss, as if he hadn't even heard her. His cock was pressing insistently into her clothed knee. "God, that old bitch Fitzgerald doesn't even come within a mile of you. Mmmm. Those breasts, those legs. I could just eat you alive." His hot breath washed over her ear.

Rosannah shoved him away, pulling her puffed sleeves up. "Robert doesn't want us doing this. You--we should stop."  _ I could lose my job.  _ "You could--your brother could throw you out on the streets. You need to quit this…"

Leland lay down on her bed, spasming with laughter. His eyes crinkled, tears gathering on the light blue edges. "Oh, Bobby! He'll moan til the end of time about me, but he'll never kick me out, no matter how much of his money I'll piss away. He's so pathetic that way, isn't he?"

Rosannah was trying to still her shaking. "Everyone has a limit. He'll get fed up once you waste too much money and you'll be out on the street, mark my words."

His grin broadened. "You really don't know much about Bobby, do you?"

He was unbuttoning his waistcoat slowly, head tossed so that his golden-brown hair haloed over the pillows.

"Bobby's afraid of being all alone. He's afraid that after I leave, Linney Belle will leave when she's grown, and he'll just waste away in that mansion, surrounded by all his ghosts. S'why he puts up with me. There's nothing that I could do that would make him disown me."

He laughed lightly. "You should have heard him carryin' on when his fiancee left him. Or when our mama died. He'll curse out his fiancee, but it's her--and Mama--that stay inside his mind so much. Women rule his life."

"If women rule Robert's life, then they  _ own _ yours, Leland." Her voice was quiet but hard.

Leland caught her tone, and his eyes went cold again. "You're wrong. I rule women, they don't rule me. How about I prove it to you, honey sweet? Come on down here." He tried to catch her arm and pull her down, but she pulled her arm away and stood up. "Leland, I have to get up early. Please, if you would leave me."

Leland sat up on the side of the bed, shirt unbuttoned. "I'm not sure I like your tone, Sweet Edie." his voice had fallen. "I'd very much prefer for you to call me _ Mr. Beaufort _ ." He was undoing his fly, the bulge in his pants very visible in the dim light. Her insides tightened just looking at it 

His cock was freed, lined with veins and standing straight up, and he caught her arm and yanked her forward. She tried to shake him off again, but he twisted her arm cruelly. "It ain't there to look at. Come on and sit on my lap. You know you want this big cock inside you. I bet you're all wet just thinking about it and were hoping all day I'd have just lifted your dress and fucked you blind against the wall."

Drunken and predatory, he pulled her shoulderless dress down below her breasts. His mouth slipped from the swollen lips to brush across her shoulders, then to devour her pink nipples with his slick mouth.

He had her skirts lifted up, her bare thighs straddling his with the head of his cock erect and standing lustfully an inch from her tight, scared pussy. The broad warmth of his cockhead began to spread over her as he slowly drew her down on his lap while she strained away.

She tried to wriggle away, but, he twisted her arms and threw her to pin her underneath him. His entire weight resting on her hips, he slid a cold hand up her thighs, tickling her clit with the tips of his fingers and brushing her wetness.

His eyes were the color of cobwebs. "Just like you mountain trash, hm? Getting wet and bothered at the thought of someone rich and handsome as me paying you the slightest bit of interest. Keep your mouth shut and spread your legs, girl. You'll never be gladder you had my bastard in your belly." His shifted, his leg pinning hers as the warmth of his cock radiated inside her. She could feel the head throbbing, and it gave a small thrust.

Rosannah hated Leland, very clearly. It was not the slow, grudging hate she'd had toward her husband, building up over years and years. She hated him directly, a shock to her system a la staring at a highwayman robbing her stagecoach. She looked into his eyes and knew he was bad, born bad, and would be bad until the day he died. And that he had singled her out for his darkness to be released upon.

"Otherwise you'd just marry some sharecropper and pop out ugly filthy-footed brats until one of them kills you coming out. Here? As long as you do exactly what I say, keep your mouth shut, and work from dawn til dusk, then you'll have comfort, stability, the chance to live in Bethlehem Hall, and the most wonderful of all--the chance to take my cock each and every day."

_ Oh, you just wait, Lee. One day I'll be gone overnight and you'll never see me again.  _ There was that bubbling fury, the fury that made her finger twitch in want of a trigger.

Lee's mouth sealed over her other nipple, the suction making nerves blaze on the ends of her breasts. Her knees weakened as the tip of his tongue curled on the pink tip, as if he were trying to suck milk out of her dry teat.

His cock began its slow rhythm, sliding in and out. Her insides bust with pleasure, curling deliciously around the hard, pulsating cock thrust deep within her. Her clit was standing stiff and hard to press against his hipbone as he steadily ground against her, smile on his face.

Rosannah let her eyes drift. His smile, those ice  pale eyes--they all faded out of view. His cock forcing into her belly became a distant memory, just as her husband had thrown her onto the bed and unbuckled his belt. She was somewhere else, she wasn't on earth anymore. The pain and pleasure had dulled to a buzz.

Her sight spiralled to loosely fixate on the many photographs framed on the wall. Over his heaving shoulder, she saw stark black and white faces, staring severely at her sin. They watched as he freed her coal-black hair and greedily ran his hands through it, and--

***

Rosannah froze.

Leland was still pumping between her legs, hard thighs forcing hers apart--but for a moment she barely noticed, her eyes focused on a picture on the wall.

_The secret's in the photos._ Among the people upon people in the rows and rows of photographs was one that caught her undivided attention.

A pair of eyes met hers. Eyes that were just specks, but eyes she could guess were pale as ice.

Rosannah writhed suddenly, kicking Leland off and twisting away. Taken unawares, he was knocked off balance as she scrambled up. She pulled a framed photograph from the wall. "Lee, who is this? This girl? Who is she?"

His face was flushed and furious. "Who cares? Come back here." 

Rosannah shoved the picture in front of his face. "Tell me right now!"

The photograph was taken many, many years ago--stark black and white. It was of a family standing on the lawn of Bethlehem Hall. The plantation itself stood tall and grand behind them, no rot nor peeling paint.

The people were clustered together, the men in stiff-fitting suits and the women in high-necked white dresses. The camera was too far away to make out their expressions, but she could recognize the face of the woman in the middle. It was small, elegant, and impassive. Her hair showed white as snow in the stark photo, held up in a bun--Rosannah had  _ seen _ her before. She had looked into her eyes and seen their blankness. The day she had met the woman in white on the porch was seared into her memory. The fly crawling across her pallid cheek. Her necklace of purple, bruised skin.

Leland looked irritated, but she was not letting up, so he sat back against the pillow. "That's--yes, that's Blanche Beaufort, I think, great aunt Blanche. She's the woman from the statue out front…"

"Tell me all you know about her, Leland! Please!" Her voice was shaky and panicked, and unease sparked in Leland's eyes.

Nonetheless, he continued. "She was Abel Beaufort's daughter. Abel was the thirteenth head of Bethlehem Hall. Blanche was--thirty? Thirty four? She was getting old when she finally married to another planter's son. They were going to have the reception here… until the day of the wedding."

Leland seemed to be getting into the story, and his eyes gleamed darkly. "She had her wedding dress on when they found her in her bedroom. It was hiked up above her waist. Blanche had been brutally raped and murdered. She'd been strangled so hard her neck was broken.

"They hung a local drifter for the crime, but everyone knew he didn't do it. No one knew who did it, and why. How they slipped in without anyone noticing, and slipped out in the early morning. It's all a big mystery. Tormented her father til his last days. Abel used to be a cantankerous men, with a temper hotter than a two dollar pistol, but this… sucked the life right out of him.

"Ol' Abel used to sit in the attic, day after say, looking out at the statue of his daughter. Said he didn't want her to feel alone. They entombed her beneath that statue, you know? He couldn't bear being so far apart from her."

Rosannah studied the photograph. The man beside her had thick white muttonchops and bushy eyebrows. His arm was wrapped around his daughter's shoulders.  _ It tormented him til his last days. _

_ The attic. _

The pieces to the puzzle where there, slowly starting to click together.

Leland pulled her down beside him. He kissed her 

"Are we done talking about things that happened a hundred years ago? I can feel my cock growing soft. How about you work on me with your mouth a little to make up for it?"

***

All was said and done, and the night had grown very late. Leland had retreated to his room. Rosannah was finally, blissfully alone. 

Rosannah ached inside, she ached outside, but it was a familiar and dull ache. It was one that would fade away in time. 

She stared at the photograph, memorizing every detail. It was curling and discolored around the edges, but the people were sharp as day. She focused on the man and woman in the middle

Abel and Blanche Beaufort, and whoever had killed her. She knew--she was  _ positive-- _ that everything, the attic, the crying, the woman she had seen--was connected to that. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My goodness, this chapter went nowhere 😅


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Who killed Blanche Beaufort?

Rosannah was out grocery shopping for the day. It gave her blessed relief to escape from that mansion of horrors, if only for a few hours. 

She looked at her list. Pecans, key limes, whiskey--the whiskey had been crossed out by a few angry pencil slashes, and then rescribbled in the same handwriting on the corner of the list.

"Well, if it isn't Edith McCurdy herself!" A loud, voice behind her made her jump, then relax as she recognized it. "Well, hello, Arletha. Doing some weekend shopping?"

Arletha Wright was wearing a blue puffed-sleeve blouse and a long, tattered red skirt, and her smile was as broad as it had always been. She indicated her basket, packed to the brim full of yams. "It's for church! We're having a picnic! Of course, Dad and I get to do all the cooking." She rolled her eyes. "How's your new job coming along?"

Rosannah slowly clenched her hand. "It's… paying well."

Arletha guffawed. "Guess that's all you can hope for, huh? With that Bobby Beaufort as your boss. I'm surprised you've lasted this long-- no one else has. My aunt worked there for a time. Only two weeks. She got fed up with Bobby and gave him a piece of her mind, slapped him right across the face. He had her out with her suitcase the next hour." Rosannah couldn't hide a smile.

Arletha quickly checked behind her, then leaned forward conspiratorially. "Listen, Edie. Can I ask you a favor? It's kinda a big one. But I can give you three whole plates of fried squash at the fair if you agree to do it."

"What is it?" Her curiosity was piqued.

"Now, you better keep this a secret!" Arletha's voice dropped to a whisper. "I got a date with Noah Broughton. Well, not really, but it might as well be. He's an amateur photographer--well, he _says_ he is. Last month he was going to be a piano maestro." She rolled her eyes. "But he wants to take a few pictures of the Bethlehem Hall grounds and submit it to some newspaper contest. Can you get us in? I know Bobby tends to be private, but it'll only be for a few hours."

"Sure, I'll give it a try." Her stomach roiled at having to face Robert. She had been avoiding him all day, and whenever their eyes met, she saw a strange, venomous heat in those blue eyes.

"Excellent!" Aretha clasped her hands together. She was beaming, almost embarrassed, probably imagining her first date with the tall, handsome Noah. "Thank you so kindly, Edie!"

As she turned to leave, something occurred to Rosannah. She caught her shoulder. "Wait!"

"What?"

"You know a little about the Beaufort family, is that right?"

 _"Everyone_ knows a little about the Beaufort family. Us Wrights, more than most. Mostly old stories. That's Dad's forte, old superstitious curmudgeon he is. All of 'em are probably fake, legends and such. The Beauforts are a big family, of course some rumors are bound to crop up."

"Do you know anything about the murder of Blanche Beaufort?"

"Big scandal way back in the day, it was. Ole Josiah Henderson got hung for the crime, and his family has hated the Beauforts with a passion ever since. Everyone knew he didn't do it, though."

It seemed Arletha had indeed inherited a love of rumors from her father, because her voice dropped and she leaned forward, big dark eyes gleaming. "See, poor Blanche… old spinster, she was, she was lookin' forward to marrying, but her father had tossed out every suitor. Didn't want his little girl leaving the nest. And that man she was marryin'... Bartholomew Pickering. Nasty son of a gun. Handsome, but meaner than an old dog. She'd fallen head over heels for him, and Abel couldn't have been too happy about his little girl marrying that brute. Thing is, Bart weren't so keen on marrying Blanche himself, who was gettin' on in years and losing her looks. When he'd heard of her death, he celebrated and starting popping champagne with his buddies." Arletha shook her head. "That family, they rival the Beauforts with their nastiness. None of 'em were ever worth a damn."

"Pickering…"

"Bastard kids always runnin' around. Tobacco farmers all of them, white trash with money is all they were, without the capability of even bein' decent about it like Amos Kearny. Those Pickerings. They ain't got shit now, and no one could be happier."

"So, Blanche was due to marry into this family?"

"She was, but nobody liked the arrangement 'cept for her herself and Bart's family, on account of her inheritance. Now, I heard from a great-aunt, whose mother had been a slave there… that she'd seen some Pickering relatives, Bart's brothers and cousins, were staying there the night before the wedding, along with the groom himself. She'd said she heard 'em speaking loudly behind the door they were staying in the West Wing. Talking about how old Blanche was, how ugly she was. How she didn't deserve Bart. The woman didn't tell nobody. Fraid she'd be blamed, fraid one of her sons or brothers would be blamed. But she knew what she heard…" 

Arletha tapered off, and clarity returned to her eyes sharply. "Well, unless it was just some story passed down that got embellished. Which it probably was." She seemed both furious and embarrassed at herself. "Sorry, Miss McCurdy. I can't hang around here forever. Got stuff to do. Pop and I'll be cooking all week for that blasted church dinner."

"Arl--" But the girl was already weaving her way deftly through the crowds until she was just a speck of red. 

Rosannah turned back to her list, but her mind was whirring. Pickering. She needed to find them, if they were a local family. They might have the answers she'd been seeking. She had been sucked down a rabbit hole, and the only way she could claw herself out was if she could uncover the truth.

***

Rosannah carefully studied the piece of homework she'd been given. "No, Linney Belle. Twenty three times two is not forty five."

Linney Belle pouted. "It's the right answer. I did it twice!"

"Linney's stuuuupid," giggled Suellen.

"No! I'm not stupid! _You're_ the one who's wrong!"

"Look." Rosannah sat down beside her and drew the problem on the paper pad. "What do you get when you times 3 by 2?"

Linney shoved her homework away in a fit of rage. "I don't wanna study! You're just gonna be gone in a month anyway, and the new lady is gonna teach be something different! Just leave already!"

Her outburst was wild, emotional and weepy, and it quieted the room immediately. Rosannah got up. "Suellen, please leave the room." Suellen did without a word.

The normally taciturn child was sitting turned away from her, and her lower lip was trembling. Rosannah approached Linney Belle and cradled her face. "Linney sweetie, I'm not going to leave you. I promise. I'm gonna stay right here and teach you until you're a big girl, okay?" Her lies flowed like water, and tears pricked her own eyes.

Linney Belle squeezed her eyes shut, but tears were creeping from underneath anyway. "No you aren't," she whispered, but she seemed unsure.

"I'm not going to leave you, Linney. I promise." She kissed her, and when she opened her eyes again, Linney was staring at her with her big green eyes, so lost and childlike.

***

The yellow pages listed most of the Pickerings in one of the more rural parts of Chatham County, but one--an older woman--lived in the Historic District of Savannah, probably clutching the last dribbles of wealth to her. It was mid day and Rosannah was done with her teaching duties, so she slid on a bonnet and heavy dress to go out and poke around.

Rosannah was halfway down the grand staircase when Letitia came storming up.  "Did you tell my daughter to leave the room?" She snapped in her face.

Rosannah instinctively looked to the side. Letitia's voice hissed, full of venom. "Don't you ever talk to my daughter that way. You are a servant here, and that's all you'll ever be. If I find out that you've spoken to her like that again--"

"Ahhh, Letty. Calm yourself." Leland's casual lilt made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. "Rosannah's only been here for a few months… she's due to slip up once in a while."

"As far as I'm concerned, she should have been kicked out by now," Letitia snapped back, roughly shoving off Leland's arm draped over her shoulders. "A young woman like that just causes trouble, preening ugly things. She can't do anything, talks back like this! Bobby should go back to hiring old hags. At least they know how to behave and clean a house!"

"I'm so sorry," Rosannah muttered, trying to walk on. "I'll try harder. Mrs. Kearny,"

"You had better!" The silver-blonde woman howled after her.

Leland followed her down the stairs. He always tailed her when he could, like a puppy. No, not a puppy. More like a lean, juvenile male dog, waiting for a chance to mount her. "She's always been a pain, Letty has. Ever since we were kids. Always wanted us to play her games. Always wanted to keep all the toys to herself. She's never changed since then."

"I heard," Rosannah said softly, remembering Mr. Wright's words. _Some people just born miserable and never change._ She felt sudden pity for the woman. Even Rosannah's own life had more light in it than Letitia's.

Leland skimmed his hands down her waist. "What say we take a horse ride? I can show you some lovely little nooks and crannies in the Bethlehem Hall estate."

"I don't think so," Rosannah answered coldly, shoving him off. "I have someplace to be."

***

Savannah was so beautiful on the surface, so sparkling, so perfect. The clean tartness of mint juleps mixing with the flowery scent of white roses. The ivy creeping over the black gates and up the stone stairs, the bright, blue-painted porches, the spidering Spanish moss casting soothing shadows over the worn cobblestones. In the distance she heard the clip-clop of horses.

The sky was clear and blue, not a cloud in the sky to stop its rays from shining off her coal-black curls. As she passed the rainbow mansions with their colonnades and gates and shutters flung wide open to let the curtains billow out, Rosannah felt content, wondrous, almost flirty, and she tossed her hair over her shoulder and smiled at a boy passing by.

The feeling did not last long as the beautiful mansions started to get bars on their windows, the streetlights had strips of black paint peeling off their poles, and a dead squirrel lay rotting at the bottom of a gnarled oak.

The houses were grand, but rotting. The sides of the grand mansions had paint peeling, their windows cracked and tarnished. Their yards were overgrown with rosebushes and long-abandoned ornamental plants, clashing together like a zoo left to grow wild. Still they towered, proud in their decay like a warrior dying of his wounds. 

 _More like a warrior left to waste away in a hospital bed,_ she thought to herself. Wealth was bleeding out of the city like a cut throat. Poverty was creeping in on the edges in a dark rot.

The address had led her to a behemoth of brick shielded by trees and overgrown bushes swathing its sides like a blanket. A solid chimney burst out of the tangled leaves to shield the house protectively, moulded against its side like a sentinel. 

The rest of the house was lined with long, arched black windows, like a medieval castle. On the lawn was a grimy white lawn chair, behind which was a foreboding entrance flanked with dingy white colonnades. She could not see inside the porch, covered with shadows like the sunlight would not dare to penetrate.

Even so, Rosannah braved the sagging, rotten steps and knocked on the ancient door. It still had a ragged wreath hanging on it, and the scratched brass knocker was cold in her fingers. She heard a shuffling, and then a wizened old frizzy-haired woman in a bathrobe creaked it open. "I'm sorry, darling, I already got too many girl scout cookies."

"It's not that, ma'am," Rosannah said. "I'm a… I just wanted to ask you a few questions about your family, Miss Pickering. For an… article I'm writing… for the Historical Society…"

 _"Mrs._ Pickering. Mrs. _Maudelynn_ Pickering _._ I'm no spinster. I been married since last year, all forty-three years of my life, _"_ she snapped with sudden vitriol, before suddenly turning sugar-sweet once again. "Why, please come in, darlin'! Have some tea! We Pickerings were very prominent round these parts. Owned the biggest tobacco plantation in Georgia, and Tennessee too. One of my great-aunts married the governor! The balls we used to throw… you weren't a Savannahian if you ain't went to a Pickering ball!"

The inside was polished yet decrepit, a strange mixture of the bright, polished angel ceramics behind a glass case, the neatly swept floor and paintings--and the crumbling walls and sagging floors inside the decrepit and overgrown house. It was a place desperately trying to pretend it was not dying.

Mrs. Pickering daintily sat down in front of the lace tablecloth and poured some tea. The steam billowed up into the damp, cracking ceiling.

"Well, on with your questions then!" She chirruped, merrily stirring sugar into the teacups of black tea.

"It's about Blanche Beaufort," she started hesitantly.

Maudelynn almost upset her teacup. "That son of a bitch Josiah Henderson. His family moans that he never hurt a fly, but we all know those longing looks he glanced at Blanche whenever he did odd jobs at Bethlehem Hall, whistled at her whenever he passed her by on the street. Her gettin' married must have driven him into a frenzy. Our Bart was so torn up about it… he moaned for days and weeks. His own fiancee!" She drank her tea, but the cup was shaking and it was spilling down the rim of the teacup.

"So... Bartholomew Pickering really was that upset about Blanche's death?" She couldn't keep the dubious tone out of her voice.

Mrs. Pickering paused for a moment before she continued. "He weren't… he weren't pleased to marry her, but he weren't glad she were dead, if that makes sense. He was a good boy, my uncle Bart."

"And he disappeared, did he?"

Maudelynn Pickering's face darkened. "Yes, he disappeared. Our Bartholomew. I know who did it too. Couldn't say anything, the Beauforts being who they are. But we all knew who killed him…"

"Was it a relative of some sort? Blanche's brother?"

"Clement? I don't think so, he wasn't the type, though it certainly rattled him enough. And none of her other distant relatives in the house either, airheaded rich snobs with less class than a harp straight off the boat. They probably laughed about their poor spinster cousin's death in private, ooh, I just know they did." 

The grandfather clock against the wall began to boom, making Rosannah jump. The whole house gave her the same feeling as Bethlehem Hall. Cobwebs starting to gather on the edges of the ceiling, and the pieces of china behind the class cabinet going thick with dust.

"No, we Pickerings knew who killed our Bartholomew. It was Abel. Abel Beaufort. He got up with his rifle and tracked our poor innocent Bart down. Never found the body, but we knew what happened to him. _Beauforts!"_ Mrs Pickering spat the name with such viciousness that it hardly seemed to have come from the sweetly smiling old lady.

Rosannah hurriedly sipped her cup, and it burned her throat. The woman living there alone here was stewing, going mad. She could see Bobby in her spot soon enough, alone and ranting and miserable, and felt that sympathy again, unbidden.

"Seems like it affected him quite a lot. Abel." She remembered the attic, and something cold swept over her body.

"Who knows. He never wanted her to marry anyway. And then on her wedding, finding her like that… serves him right for trying to control her so much. That man lived out the rest of his life miserable and he deserved every bit of it."

Maudelynn's eyes were going livid again, wrinkled face puckering. Rosannah hurriedly changed the subject 

"But what about Bartholomew himself? I heard through the grapevine he was a bit, well, bit of a flirt…"

"Oh, nonsense. Bart was a lady's man, but nothing on the level as that devil's boy Leland Beaufort. Now, I never got a good feeling from Leland. Everyone in Savannah likes how he acts and flirts and lends his hand to old ladies crossing the street. Good, respectful Southern boy who uses _yes sir_ and _yes ma'am…_ but still. He's got a bit of his great-uncle inside him, I can see that, and that makes me wary. I just wish the rest of Savannah's belles felt the same way as I did… girls these days are too trusting…"

 _You know exactly what the truth is. Lee's a wolf in sheep's clothing. But his great uncle? I've never heard_ _of him before_. "Who was this man? Leland's great-uncle?"

Mrs. Pickering's face darkened, and for a moment, something frightful came over her eyes a shadow. "Clement's boy. Though I hardly think anyone could be as awful as that man. I don't…" she looked away, and it seemed that her gossip, for once had failed her. She toyed with the porcelain handle of her teacup with her pinky, and her wrinkled throat pulsed. There was a look in her eyes that spoke she was somewhere far away, somewhere very dark. It took Rosannah several times of saying her name for her to start and look up.

"What about this--great-uncle? What did he do?" Rosannah asked in a hushed voice. She felt like it was just her and Maudelynn Pickering as the sole people in the world, and Rosannah was unraveling a labyrinth of mysteries like bandages from a mummy, until it exposed the wizened, shrivelled brown truth. 

"It's all said and done," said Mrs. Pickering, her voice trembling, "if it happened at all. Water under the bridge. Some things deserve to be forgotten." 

Mrs. Pickering looked Rosannah in the eye, and her purplish blue eyes were set and hard. "Those Beauforts are dark. Darker than any family in Savannah, hell, in all a' Georgia. You'd best stay far, far away from them, dearie." Maudelynn patted her hand in a motherly way.

Rosannah's tea was cold, a white film forming over the surface.

Mrs. Pickering sighed, and brushed a wispy strand of hair. "Goodness. I haven't spoken like this in ages. I was always a debutante, but no one bothers to visit me anymore. It gets so lonely with my husband gone and my children all moved out…"

The grandfather clock boomed again, and she startled. Rosannah looked at the cracked clock face. It was evening, and the sky was turning the deep blue that heralded sunset. She realized with a sickening lurch that she needed to get going, now, before it was too late. "I… need to get home. Thank you so much, Miss--Mrs. Pickering." As they both got up, Rosannah took the time to hug the lonely old woman tightly.

Mrs. Pickering smiled and kissed her cheek in a soft press of warmth and old lady perfume.  "You come back, sweetheart. I like you. I like talkin' to you. If you need another interview for your, pardon me, Historical Society, stop by anytime."

***

Rosannah arrived home just in time to make dinner, and after the chaotic clashing and prudery and complaints and children screaming at the dining room table, she returned to the kitchen to wash the dishes. Rosannah carefully put the clean dishes in the rack, mentally going over what Mrs. Pickering had said, about Blanche, about Abel and Josiah Henderson and Bartholomew Pickering, and… about Clement's son, Leland's great uncle.

She heard the distant shouts and laughs of Linney and Suellen playing with their uncle, and Lee sounded genuinely happy as he laughed along with them. But her worry only intensified. It was so hard to separate the truth from rumor, but she was prepared to believe the worst about the Beaufort family.

"McCurdy. Please see me in my study." Robert spoke sharply to her as he passed by the open door to the hall. 

Rosannah started. "I'm not done the dishes yet. And I have to take Ezra his clam chowder…"

"Don't talk back, woman," he snapped, then appeared to restrain himself. "He can wait. This won't take but a few minutes."

Rosannah dried her hands on her apron and cautiously followed him up the grand staircase, past the lines of golden crucifixes with Jesus' face staring hauntingly down on her, and up another flight into his study.

A heavy wariness slowly blanketed her. Being along with Robert Beaufort was unsettling. He had an unsettling demeanor, at once preoccupied and agitated like a dog slowly going rabid. Rosannah took a seat at the leather chair, and he lit his corncob pipe, pacing restlessly.

"What I did all those days before when you came home with my brother," he started, "I… regret it." He was forcing his words out. "I could not restrain myself. When you dress like that, it inflames men. I chastised you, perhaps more brutally than I should have." 

Rosannah looked at the ground, the hair on her nape prickling, before a cold fingertip lifted her chin to meet a pair of ice blue eyes. His face was relaxed in almost a sort of wonder as he trailed down her ripe body.

"McCurdy," he said, drawing her up to stand. Rosannah was not a short woman, but she still had to tilt her head back to stare into his eyes. He had one hand resting on her shoulder, the other closer to her nape, and the chill of his fingertips made her insides twist.

"A man--should gently but firmly guide a woman on her path to modesty. What I did was not gentle and firm. I am not a perfect man and will try to amend my ways. I can see that you are a… a good woman at heart--despite the sins of your gender, I can see you are trying."

He paused, then leaned forward and chastely kissed her forehead. The brush of his lips on her skin made her knees tremble, made her want to tear out of his grasp and run as far away from Bethlehem Hall as she possibly could.

"T-thank you, Mr. Beaufort." She tried to keep the tremble out of her voice.

His silvery soft hair tickled her cheek as he withdrew. He smiled wanly down at her, and she hesitantly piped up.

"Mr. Beaufort, may I ask you a question?"

He tilted his head, still smiling, but the smile did not touch his eyes. It never did. But his voice was warm when he spoke to her, in a way it never was, even when he spoke to his only daughter. "Of course."

"It's about your… your family."

The change in his demeanor was sharp and sudden. "Who? Who in my family?"

She hurried to assuage him. "Just… older ones, you know, your great-uncle and Blanche Beaufort…"

"Where did you learn about these people?" His voice snapped.

Rosannah struggled to come up with an excuse. "Well, your brother--"

 _"Leland,"_ Robert spat, before stepping up to her again, and his hand gripped the back of her long black hair as he forced her to face him. His teeth were bared, eyes like chips of ice, and his voice was becoming unhinged again, slowly building in anger. "Don't you ever ask me about my family! You're here for one reason! One reason only! _Never_ ask me about my family! _Ever!"_ His voice was rising to a shout, and Rosannah's eyes were beading with tears and he was yanking her hair again and she was stammering out her apologies and trying not to sob when he thrust her away from her.

Robert bent against his desk, head bowed and hands gripping the edge. His pale hair was coming loose, sweat-soaked to plaster his collar. 

"You whores always betray me. Mother. Liza Ann. It's all you women do." He said it, voice strained so hard and almost cracking with a little boy's sort of vulnerability.

"I need to take Ezra his soup," Rosannah said gently, as gently as she could, knowing his self-pity could explode into violence at any moment, just as his gentleness had. Her hands were trembling as she hid them in her apron. At that moment, with his blonde hair and the devil in his eyes, _oh dear lord_ he really did remind her of her husband.

Robert unsteadily waved a hand, dismissing her, and when she was out the door and looked back he was still bent over the desk, shoulders shaking in what might have been sobs. 

Rosannah fled silently, her scalp aching, and didn't allow herself to breathe until she came to her room and locked it behind her.

***

Rosannah's room was bathed with light from the window, glinting off the hardwood floors and the ornate metal carvings on the vanity. The mirror underneath had been nailed shut many years ago, and was sagging a bit at the edge. She went to sit in front of the window, and tucked a lank black curl behind her ear. She had not seen herself in a mirror in weeks. Or was it months? Rosannah had been in Bethlehem Hall so long she could barely count the passing days.

The events of the day were whirring in her brain over and over, like a windmill. Josiah Henderson, Bartholomew Pickering, Clement Beaufort, Blanche Beaufort. There were half-truths and outright lies buried in this jumbled narrative. Everyone had their own agenda, and the only thing that could be certain about was that the night before her wedding, Blanche Beaufort had been horrifically raped and murdered by somebody who was either _in_ or _knew_ the house. 

The statue of Blanche Beaufort lay in melancholy beneath the sweeping oaks, stone face eternally etched in agony. The only memory of a life taken far too early.

Rosannah sat silently in front of the window, staring at her face in the reflection. The dull glow of the candle lit her face, dark curls tumbling down and eyes glinting like coal.

In the distance, she heard sobbing as light as the wind. She wanted to call out-- _Linney? Suellen?_ but knew it was neither of them. It was a wandering spirit who needed to be put to rest. 

Rosannah closed her eyes. _Blanche. Blanche Beaufort._ She sank down into the dark, blank part of her own mind that she was barely aware of. She heard the sobs in the distance, the whispers, everything fading and swelling and fading and swelling. She was dreaming, she was awake, she was in the world between waking and dreaming.

_She heard unfamiliar voices beyond her door. Chattering and sudden laughter and snitches of conversation 'pretty in her dress' and 'all day making the banquet' and 'be drunk for the whole wedding'._

_She opened her eyes and saw, in the reflection from the window, a wan face ringed with delicate platinum ringlets. Even in the dim reflection she could see the lines and cracks on the edges of her eyes._

_A hand slid over her shoulder. "Are you ready for your big day tomorrow?" Murmured a voice in her ear. It sounded far away, as if underwater._

_She closed her eyes. "You shouldn't be in here."_

_The hand curved around her neck, brushing the delicate necklace of pearl that was draped over her collarbone. The hand toyed with a rosy pearl as her shoulders shivered. "I'm going," she said. "You have to leave me alone from now on. We can't--you can't do this to me anymore."_

_"He doesn't love you, you know. He's drinking with his friends right now, complaining about you. Everyone in Bethlehem Hall can hear him."_

_She felt tears well in her eyes as his hand went to cup her breast through her slip. The other delved down between her pale quivering thighs._

_"I'm the only one who will ever love you, Blanche." The pads of his fingers toyed with her delicate pink nipples. "You remember that when you're in bed with your new husband."_

_His hands closed around her throat._

_***_

The pain lanced her throat as she fell backwards, choking and gasping. Rosannah held her neck with one hand, sprawled on the wooden floor.

The candle flame waved, flickered, sputtered, then went out, as if snuffed by an angry hand. And then it was pitch-black, just Rosannah on the floor of an empty room.

"This was your room, wasn't it?" She sobbed. "You died here. You died here, Blanche."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The mystery deepens!  
> Family tree for everyone struggling to keep these blasted Beauforts straight:  
> https://raindrop-on-a-spiderweb.tumblr.com/post/190586754905/


End file.
